


Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis

by JulieArchery107



Category: Sherlock (BBC)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Mycroft is done with everyones shit, Not Eurus-friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-07-01 12:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15774087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulieArchery107/pseuds/JulieArchery107
Summary: After the events of Sherrinford, Mycroft suffers a mental breakdown. Since there is no one there to catch him, he falls...and never resurfaces. Someone else does.





	1. Chapter 1

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Prologue

"Just the family dog."

"You locked her up like some kind of animal!"

"How could you do such a thing to your own family?!"

"You lied to us!"

"Made us believe she was dead!"

"You Heartless bastard!"

"Coldblooded Reptile!"

"You limited Idiot Boy!"

Hearing his mother's condescending voice echo in his ears, Mycroft opened his blurry eyes only to discover he's no longer in his favorite seat in the Diogenes Club trying to focus on anything else but the aftermath of previous events, but on the cold floor of his Mind Palace, where all the thoughts he tried not to dwell on are free to assault him.

It seems that even his own brain agrees that no good deed should go unpunished.

Even ones it itself concluded were for the greater good.

Groaning the older Homes brother closed his eyes again, memories of his encounter with his parents flooding his ever-remembering mind.

He remembered it like it was yesterday…

The way they looked at him with pure disgust in their eyes…the way they immediately jumped to Eurus's protection, not even thinking about hearing his side of the story…

The way they seemed to both degrade and disown him with no hesitation…

"Sherlock was always the grown up."

Was what Mummy Holmes said, but Mycroft also heard the part that was left silent but no less insulting.

"And you were never good enough. What in the devil made you think you ever will be?"

A lump grew in his throat and his heart began to hurt.

He tried to tell himself that he was ready for this, that he expected this reaction ever since Uncle Rudi trusted him with his secret, that taking all the blame and hate was always part of the plan.

The 'Ice-man' façade was created and perfected throughout the ages in wait for this very moment.

So that, when they finally learn of his treachery, he'll be able to take their hate no matter how much they threw at him and still look as if they were discussing the weather, even if on the inside he was tearing apart.

He made himself think that the knowledge of everyone else being safe will be worth every harsh glare, every cutting insult…

He lived so long with Sherlock and his gang hating his very existence, only contacting him when absolutely necessary and otherwise treating him like dirt, adapting to his parents not wishing to see him anymore shouldn't be a problem.

His family is safe, that's all that matters.

But…

Those are lies, aren't they?

He wasn't ready for all this, no matter how hard he tried to pretend he was.

He never expected that, after everything he did: making sure his little brother was never in harm's way for all these years, taking on the responsibility that they should have barred from an early age, and generally being the reliable son, they'd just disregard all of that at the drop of the hat the moment they heard of what he did to Eurus.

The Ice-man is just that, a façade. It might work when he's dealing with presidents, queens and other foreign officials but...it always melts away when his family is involved, proving itself to be completely useless when he needs it most.

He wishes he was strong enough to be the monster of the family that's never acknowledged for anything but the mistakes he's made, but he wasn't…

Mycroft may have fooled everyone else, but he never could quite fool himself.

And his heart could barely stand the thought of his little brother despising him, adding the rest of his family to the list would do nothing short of destroying it…

The elder Holmes's face constricted in pain along with the organ that betrayed him most.

What he did was very hurtful and he knew that, he also knew that their anger is very much justified and that he deserved every bit of it…

What he didn't understand however was their complete lack of will to so much as listen to him.

Did they really think he would lock his sibling up in a mental hospital without a solid reason?

Where did all that mistrust come from?

What did he do to deserve it?

He doesn't…doesn't understand…

…

...

...Perhaps he really was limited?

Without even realizing it Mycroft Homes curled into a ball, hugging his knees like a child does after a nightmare, something he hasn't done in literal decades.

He was always too old for that…even when he was seven…

Good Big brothers don't cry, don't get scared…don't get overwhelmed by responsibilities…

...don't lock their mentally unstable little sisters in prisons when nothing else worked…

Good big brothers don't do those thigs…

…yet he did.

And would probably do so again if he had to.

Because someone has to make the hard choices.

And there is literally no-one else.

His parents are incapable of doing so to their own child...

Sherlock can barely take care of himself...

And Uncle Rudi is dead.

"Look at you, the most powerful man in Britain, laying on the floor like a kicked dog." A voice somewhere above the elder Holmes sighted, breaking him out of his ponderings. "Then again, perhaps you are one, considering that absurd amount of underserved loyalty you show towards your masters. No matter how much they abuse you, you always come back for more." The owner of the voice snorted in obvious disgust. "How disgustingly sentimental."

Mycroft closed his eyes and swore quite ferociously under his breath.

"Why," He started, teeth gritted and eyes closed in silent frustration. "out of everyone who took residence in this palace…Why is it always you?"

The man in question shared a disturbing similarity to him, dare he say that he could have passed as a long-lost twin.

He was tall, dressed in an impeccable dark-blue suit, had short auburn colored curls and had the same ice-cold pale-blue eyes Mycroft himself had.

But that's where the similarities ended.

For the man looked like a corpse taken freshly out of the freezer. His clothes and hair covered in a layer of frost, eyes cold and lacking the healthy glow they usually have, his skin white and looking chilling to the touch, his chest sporting a large black hole where his heart should have been.

He was the person who everyone saw Mycroft Holmes as…who he was unable to be.

The dead man that walks.

The Iceman.

Said man with skin colder than the harshest winter and wind, smiled a mirthless smile before replying.

"Why…because you want it to be me, my dear Boy." He then spread his arms as if to show off the space around him. "This is your Palace, Mycroft. I wouldn't be here if you didn't want me to."

"That is precisely my point." Sherlock's older brother sneered from the ground. "I don't want you here, and yet you still grace me with your presence."

The fragment of imagination had the nerve to shrug.

"It is of no consequence, I'm afraid, as my presence seems to be needed." It smiled again, this time showing off pearly-white teeth. "Why do you think I'm still here?"

"Because, like my brother, you have made a habit of ignoring everything I say." Mycroft replied irritated, pushing himself to a kneeing position.

"Once you stop thinking about things that don't deserve your attention, you will discover that, you are the one that continually refused to listen, Mycroft." The icy tone turned from condescending to serious. "I warned you this would happen."

"What you proposed couldn't be done." Sherlock's brother whispered, shaking his fox-colored head.

"Yet had you heeded my warning and did as you were told, all this and more could have been avoided." The Iceman said, his tone knowing as he twirled his frost covered brolly.

"It would never work." Mycroft's voice was barely a whisper. "You know this. We tried countless times. It never lasted."

Suddenly he was forced to his back by a sharp tip of an umbrella pressing on his Adams apple with alarming strength, nearly chocking him.

"People died and were mentally scarred for life because you were a sentimental fool that couldn't put his feelings aside when the situation called for it!" The Iceman didn't scream, yet his voice was harsh enough to have a similar effect. "And yet, even now, after everything that happened, you still refuse to listen to your own advice."

"I don't have the luxury to do so." Mycroft whispered, ignoring the blade pressed to his neck. "I have to keep them safe…"

"And look where your devotion has led you." The Iceman sneered. "Treated like a dispensable dog by those you devoted your life to."

"They don't treat me like a-" Mycroft started to argue but the metal tip of the umbrella pressed down on his vocal cord, preventing any sounds from escaping.

"No?" The colder man asked, his voice icy and devoid of any emotion. "Then tell me if anything I say sounds familiar."

Even if he wanted to, Mycroft couldn't answer, the damned thing still was pressing on his throat.

"Only called upon when needed, tasked with the safety of the younger children, kept at arm's length at all times, ignored when tasks are preformed correctly and punished severely when not."

Mycroft remained quiet, each word stabbing a knife into his already bruised heart.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but all this sounds surprisingly a lot like your present predicament." The Iceman continued, he then lifted the umbrella off of the other man's exposed neck. "Especially the last point."

"They were right to be angry with me." Mycroft whispered as if his throat was blocked by something, his back still pressed to the cold floor. His pale-blue eyes stared emptily at nothing. "I took their child away and locked her up away from sociality."

The Iceman stepped into his field of vision and crouched so that the beaten man's attention was on him.

"You were a child taking on responsibilities that would be hard to bear by people triple your age, so that the people you cared about didn't have to watch their child get sent to hell. Even once that happened, you didn't give up on her. You did everything you could to help Eurus, getting her to the best therapy centers money could find, but, in the end, she proved herself unstable and deadly so you could do nothing but lock her away so that she doesn't hurt anyone else." A hand that was supposed to be sympathetic but really wasn't because of obvious reasons, was placed on his shoulder. "You did your best, there was nothing else you could have done."

"My best wasn't enough." Mycroft wheezed out, heart hurting more with each beat it took. "It's never enough."

The Iceman's eyes darkened again, he squeezed the shoulder he was holding.

"You shouldn't have been condemned for it, not after everything you've sacrificed." He said, voice softer in tone. "Real families don't throw their members away when they make a mistake, they stick together and fight the problems in unison with each other."

"They're doing that now, aren't they?" Came the weak response. "Finding a way to bring Eurus back… together…as a family." Mycroft swallowed the lump that threatened to choke him, the pain in his chest growing. "Without me…"

This time the Iceman stayed silent, having nothing to say.

"Mummy and Daddy have Sherlock to rely on now…" The Shadow behind the United Kingdom continued, eyes bright as if finally freed of a fog that blocked their view. "They don't need me anymore, except to gain access to Sherrinford…" He then covered his face with his hands, his body shaking with unreleased sobs and the normally steady voice breaking. "God…you're right…why are you always right?"

"Because my eyes aren't clouded by sentiment, like yours are." The man covered in frost stated coolly, watching with expressionless eyes as the man before him sobbed quietly into his hands, his heart literally leaking blood onto the suit.

This was too much…Everything…Sherlock's overdoses, Mary's death, Magnussen, Sherrinford…the overbearing guilt, the excruciating pain, the sheer shame…it all piled up and hit him like a tsunami wave, leaving nothing but anguish behind.

He couldn't take this anymore.

So he did something he hadn't done since he was a toddler.

He cried.

After he saw the man on the floor cry his soul out for a good minute, the fragmentation though enough was enough, and reached out his right hand, gently touching Mycroft's chest just over the bleeding organ.

A soft hitch in breath could be heard, along with a small flinch, from the injured man, as the heart began to freeze under his icy touch, and when the Iceman looked towards Mycroft's face he noticed that it wasn't covered by his hands anymore. Instead it stared at nothing, eyes cloudy and tear stains marking his cheeks and eyelids.

"Mycroft" He spoke softly, fully aware that his touch is effectively dulling said man's thinking process. "What you're going through right now is nothing sort of unpleasant, and the knowledge that it is wholly underserved, must be like adding salt to the blistering wounds." The Iceman paused. "We've done this before and you know that simply freezing your heart isn't going to work, as seeing your family again will only melt the ice away." He took a deep breath before continuing. "That is why I have a different proposal. One that will require far more drastic methods than simply cutting off emotions." He then locked his icy-cold eyes with fox-haired man's foggy ones. "However, in order for me to proceed, I need your full permission."

But Mycroft was too far gone to thing straight right now.

He just wanted the pain to end.

"P-Please…" He wheezed out. "Make it…stop."

Hearing this the Iceman nodded.

"As you wish."

He then pushed his hand inside Mycroft's chest completely ignoring fabric flesh and bones, making the laying man gasp, his freezing touch making quick work of the warm pulsing organ, swiftly turning it into a small block of ice.

In normal circumstances, this is where the procedure would end.

But this time…it was only the first phase.

Feeling the heart solidify under his fingertips, the Iceman narrowed his eyes in determination before letting his hand grab it like a ball and then…

Smashed it to bits.

Mycroft's eyes unfocused and became even foggier, while his body shook, this time from the inside cold the heart left behind.

Satisfied, the Iceman pulled his hand out and watched as a black hole not dissimilar to his own formed on the left side of the elder Holmes's broad chest.

Phase two complete. Now for phase three.

This time the icy fragmentation of Mycroft's psyche stood up, leaving the barely conscious Mycroft to rest, and made his way towards the various rooms in the Palace.

Reaching the one he was looking for he opened the large, rusty door.

Inside a baby Mycroft Holmes was being hugged by his mother and cooed at by his father.

It was the day he was born.

Back when everything was simpler and his parents actually loved him.

"You were never part of this family." The Iceman said sternly, waving his hand. "Your real parents were killed in a car crash when you were coming home for the first time." Reacting to the man's voice, the room started changing. "You were found by a doctor from an ambulance that came to treat the wounded in the accident and promptly taken to a hospital."

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were no longer in the room, instead a young doctor was trying to calm down the terrified baby Mycroft, admits a horrifying looking car crash, who was covered in cuts and bruises but was otherwise unharmed.

"After a few days, when no relatives arrived to collect you, you were sent to the nearest orphanage, where the caretakers found a nametag on your wrist and called you Mycroft, to honor your parent's wish. The surname Holmes was a wordplay on the word 'home' by one of the nurses working part-time in the orphanage."

Again the scene changed, this time the tiny Mycroft was being surrounded by concerned looking nurses, some worrying over his injuries while others scattered to prepare a fresh bottle of milk and a pair of new clothes for him.

The Iceman nodded, accepting what he saw and moving on to add the final touches.

The rest of Mycroft's memories will adjust themselves accordingly during the night, he just needs to feed the palace details.

"You stayed in that orphanage till your eighteenth birthday, after which you were recruited to MI6 where you quickly climbed in ranks and became the man known as 'Antarctica'."

Seeing everything fall into place, he turned to the now sleeping Mycroft Holmes and whispered before disappearing.

"No more weaknesses."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 1

"There is something missing from those eyes."

Anthea could tell something wasn't right.

The desk before her was unoccupied and the phone in her hand had no new messages.

Mycroft 'Iceman' Holmes hasn't missed a day worth working since he was recruited to MI6 at the age of eighteen, not even when he was shot and half delirious from the infection.

It just wasn't in his nature as a workaholic.

So there was no reason to believe he'd just decided to surprise everyone and take a day off to cope with the recent circumstances, no matter how much he actually needs it.

Remembering what her boss told her to do if he ever went MIA, Anthea quickly took out her phone and started tracking Mycroft's phone signal. Breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when it showed up in the Diogenes Club a second later, she alerted Mycroft's most trusted driver, Sebastian, to meet her outside the office and they both promptly rushed over to the silent club.

Both of them were more than just a little angry at themselves for leaving him alone after everything that occurred on that cursed island.

They should have known this would happen.

Mycroft may prefer to be looked upon as an unfeeling robot but, the sole fact that he was doing everything he could to seem that way, presented a completely different picture.

He shouldn't have been left alone last night.

Not with Sherrinford still fresh in his mind…

Not with everyone washing their hands of what Eurus did, perfectly comfortable with letting him take all the blame.

Not with this amount of open wounds...

There was only so much a man can take before the carefully crafted wall starts to crack, and the downward spiral begun.

Something is wrong.

Echoed though Anthea's head when they ran through the corridors, and ignored the disapproving glares of other members.

Something is wrong.

Her thoughts whispered as Sebastian forced his way into the room with a solid kick, when Mycroft didn't answer their frantic calls.

Something is wrong.

Was all she could think when they finally entered the room and saw their, normally so composed and steady as a mountain, boss laying passed out on the armchair and surrounded by empty wine bottles.

Something is wrong.

Anthea thought when she saw how broken he looked. His cheeks stained with dry tears, his posture slumped and defeated…

His right hand still clinching to the empty wine glass…

Something is wrong.

Her head screamed, when the elder Holmes finally opened his eyes…

And it felt like looking into a black hole.

Something is so very very wrong…

Anthea couldn't help but suppress a shiver going down her spine, when she asked Mycroft if he was alright…

And he just looked at her with hollow eyes and an empty smile.

"Never better."  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lady Smallwood was heading for a meeting with the Prime Minister when she noticed that lights were on in Mycroft's room, something that quite frankly caught her off guard as he was granted a weekly leave by the Queen herself.

She sighed heavily.

While Mycroft Holmes isn't a man that regularly disobeys orders given to him by the person he pledged his loyalty to, nothing short of a coma can keep that stubborn mule of a man away from his desk.

He's far too concerned with appearing strong, untouchable and in control.

Anything less would put a serious dent in his Iceman reputation, for an iceberg doesn't fall because of a few hits from the pick-axe.

Its surface may bear marks left by the tool but it will still stand tall, no matter the abuse.

Mycroft spent a large part of his life convincing everyone around him he was said iceberg.

And, though she knew reality was quite the contrary, she was willing to play along in wake of recent events.

If only to keep him from falling into the waiting darkness of despair, he seems to be hanging over at all times.

Because…if he fell…

There wouldn't be much she, or anyone, could do to bring him back.

As the person who could, turned his back on him a long time ago.

Perishing the thought of the younger Holmes brother from her mind, before she starts cursing the bloody fool under her breath, the Lady codenamed 'Love' entered 'Antarctica's' office without knocking.

"I see you are feeling better." She said, closing the door behind her.

Mycroft looked up from the papers in his hands with a raised eyebrow, obviously not surprised by her unsuspected visit, as she tended to do that quite often, but rather by what she said.

"I am well, yes." He agreed, slowly nodding his proud auburn head. "Why?"

"I was under the impression that you were given leave."

"Unnecessary." Came the flat response, as his sharp gaze fell back on the paper he was scanning before she entered the office. "I am fine."

"The queen seems to disagree." Lady Smallwood countered. "And frankly, so do I."

"There is nothing for me to recover from." Mycroft's interest in the conversation was wavering along with his patience for it. "I was not harmed."

"You haven't sustained any physical injuries, true." She agreed with a nod of the head. "But those are not the ones everyone is worried about, Mycroft." The fair Lady didn't have to clarify, she had no doubt Mycroft knew what she was talking about. It was one of the many perks of working with a natural genius. "Nobody would think any less of you for taking a break after everything that happened in Sherrinford." She assured, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

The fox-haired man nodded but it was a notion so mechanical and unconscious, she began to wonder if her words were even heard.

He remained motionless for a while seemingly lost in thought, eyes focused on something only they could see and his brow furrowing, before shaking his head and gracing her with his full attention.

"Ah yes…Sherrinford Island." His sharp icy-blue eyes bared into her soul and she couldn't help but feel that there was something missing from them. "How was it handled after my…departure?"

Of course he'd focus on that bloody Island. Lady Smallwood nearly rolled her eyes at the blunt disregard of everything else she said, but answered his question regardless.

"Eurus is back in her cell." She said. "Constantly monitored and separated from all human contact as per instructed."

After a minute of silence, his emotionless voice could be heard again.

"This won't do."

Lady Smallwood blinked, taken off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"The solution." He specifies, eyes closed. "I was informed that the charge already made a mockery of it once." Not waiting for his colleague to answer he continues. "It is pointless locking up an animal in a cage it already escaped from."

She could only stare at him now.

Never during her entire carrier had she heard him talk about anyone this way, family members especially.

"Mycroft what are you…"

"A mind this supposedly dangerous will never be fully neutralized, unless destroyed in its entirety." He answered, voice so cold and indifferent it makes his companion sick.

"Are you suggesting-?" She's almost too afraid to ask.

He nods, eyes still closed.

"But she's your sister." Lady Smallwood manages to wheeze out.

Mycroft the looks her in the eyes, and she's taken aback by how much it feels like staring into the glass eyes of a doll.

"Why would that matter?"

At that moment she finally figured out what was so different about her old friend.

The love he had for his family…

It was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The author of this fic does not like Eurus. Fans of this character are advised to proceed with caution as she will not be treated kindly in the following chapters. You have been warned.

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 2

"Final Solution."

 

She knew it was him even before the door opened.

He always came to check up on her whenever he could, that older brother of hers.

The Iceman mask firmly in place, eyes cold and impassive.

But she could always look through it, could see what he was trying so desperately to hide.

The enormous guilt…

The overwhelming sense of responsibility…

And the crushing feeling of having failed his entire family.

She saw it.

Despite the walls he built…she saw it all.

And was willing to use it against him, even turning it into a little game of making the infamous IceMan melt right before her very eyes. Because despite all that power he wields… all that intelligence his mind contains, he's still just a small boy who failed to protect his little sister from her own toxic mind.

A failure Eurus will never forgive him for.

'He did his best.' Was a phrase her little brother often communicated to her through their little violin concerts, whenever he visited.

'No.' Eurus would respond, using high pitched notes to show her displeasure and anger. 'Because if Mycroft really was as smart and clever as everyone believes he is, he would have been able to fix this. Fix me.'

Her beloved little brother always stopped playing after that, leaving her alone and giving her another reason to detest her older sibling, as the mention of him is driving the one person she loves most away from her.

The same sibling that was here now. The Homes family's biggest failure sitting in an armchair on the other side of her glass, dressed in his typical three piece suit and holding on to his iconic black umbrella.

Their similar pale blue eyes met and Eurus resisted the urge to smile.

It is time for their little game.

How foolish of him to visit her so soon, his mental defenses weaker than ever, thinking that he'll be strong enough to withstand her emotional manipulation.

A perfectly emotional response of a man trying to prove to himself that he's not affected by his family turning its back on him, or by other people viewing him as a heartless monster.

'Poor, poor Mycroft.' She though, not a sight of sympathy on her pale face. 'All alone against the bloodthirsty vultures.'

The Mycroft she knew would never make such a reckless decision. Especially when he knew his self-control is wavering, and the chance of him getting compromised by her poisonous mind is higher than ever.

Too many lives were at stake…too much responsibility rested on his shoulders, for him to allow himself to become so vulnerable.

And yet here he was…

Sitting in one room with a psychotic killer, completely defenseless…

The perfect equivalent of a deer bearing its neck for the wolf to bite.

Why?

Eurus's blue eyes sparkled in sudden understanding, her brilliant mind piecing the puzzles together.

'They seem to have already broken you enough…' Eurus thought, watching a red eyebrow rise slightly.

'…allow me to make the final push.'

Her brother continued to watch her, unmoved by anything he must be reading from her emotionless face.

Determinated to crack that mask, Eurus tilted her head at the red-haired man.

'Are you ready to play, big brother?' Her eyes seemed to ask.

Mycroft's eyes simply blinked, looking just as interested as he always did before the game began.

Eurus actually smiled.

'Round one.' She thought, before starting her performance.

The trapped woman began looking around her cage, eyes wide in fear and lip trembling with silent sobs. Doing everything she could to look like the little girl he and uncle Rudy banished to this island all those years ago.

This usually made Mycroft flinch. His mind quickly thinking back to the day he first saw her, his beloved little sister, behind this glass wall looking scared and alone, trying to convince his doubting heart that this really was the best option.

It didn't work this time.

Her older brother's face stayed the emotionless mask, eyes blinking blankly at her.

Eurus's eyes slightly narrowed but showed no other sign that something out of place was happening.

'Round one goes to you, big brother.' She nodded her head delicately in acknowledgment of Mycroft's small victory.

Without waiting for him to react, the woman went on to the next phase of her game.

She began to tremble and quietly sob. Her broken voice, though muffled out by the thick glass, was calling out for mommy and daddy. Eurus cried crocodile tears, begging for her big brother to take her home, and promising that she'll be good from now on if only Mycroft takes her back.

Any other day this would crack the mask.

Her brother's eyes would flash with dozens of emotions and, after a while, he would look away. Trying to save what little dignity he had left, and not wanting her to see him so weak.

Not today.

Today he had no such reaction.

He simply watched her with blank, emotionless blue eyes, as if not fully registering anything happening before him.

This time Eurus frowned.

Something was not right about Mycroft.

He wasn't just not reacting like he was supposed to…

He wasn't reacting at all.

After coming closer to the glass barrier between them, she raised a hand and started knocking out a message in the Morse code.

'Brother?'

Once she finished, Eurus watched her older brother's face, trying to spot any kind of reaction from him.

Her efforts were rewarded with an icy glare and a narrowing of fox-colored eyebrows, before his slim fingers knocked back an answer in the wooden armrest.

It was a short message.

One that would normally not be able to invoke such strong feelings of dread and panic in Eurus Holmes.

But this time it did, and by the time Mycroft left the room, she was already screaming.

All the message said…

…was 'No.'


	4. Chapter 4

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 3

"Angel of darkness."

"What's the emergency? Is it Eurus? Is she alright?"

Well, isn't this amusing… Lady Smallwood thought to herself, as she watched the younger Holmes brother rush into her office no more than ten minutes after she requested his presence. Sherlock Holmes showing more care and compassion to a person who nearly killed both his best friend and his older brother, than to the one man who would gladly sacrifice his own life to keep him safe and happy.

If she wasn't so worried about her friend's dramatic change of behavior, she wouldn't allow the ungrateful little (forgive her French) shit anywhere near her office, even if something actually did happen to Eurus.

After everything he put his older through, he deserved nothing more than a hard slap in the cheekbones.

But something horrible is happening to Mycroft…

And it was getting worse, if his latest meeting with Eurus was anything to go by.

She shuddered, what she saw on the video footage still fresh in her mind.

Dear God… she never saw the Holmes sister looking this terrified of anyone or anything before.

She always just cocked her head at their attempts at interrogation, never feeling threatened because she knew her older brother would step in and put a stop to it if they went too far.

That wasn't the case here.

Eurus Holmes erupted with screams of sheer panic the moment Mycroft's fingers stopped moving, while she pressed her back against the white walls like an animal cornered by a predator.

A look of such pure terror on her usually impassive face that, were the situation anywhere near the norm, seeing it would make the eldest Holmes empty a few bottles of the strongest drink the Diogenes has to offer, to try and numb the feeling of his heart being ripped apart.

He'd lock himself in the Stranger's Room for days.

Trying to drown the feelings that made him who he was: an amazing man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, while also trying to be a decent brother to two very nasty younger siblings, and a son to parents whose eyes remained permanently fixated on their younger children…

And become who everyone thinks he is: a vile, uncaring monster that uses cruel manipulation to get what it wants.

He was losing himself.

He has been for years.

With him always being the head of the family and everyone relying on him to know what to do whenever there was a problem, there was no one for him to turn to.

He took on everything on his own, and never asked for help.

Always alone, in fear of appearing weak to those who only waited for him to show weakness.

It worked for most of his life, but right now… he's close to breaking.

He needs help.

Help that he's not going to ask for.

She just hopes it isn't too late…

Her mind snapped back to reality when the younger Holmes brother slammed his palms on her desk, desperate to catch her attention.

The Lady blistered at the loud noise and then responded with fixing the curly-haired bastard with the coldest glare she could muster.

Had it been any other day she'd have him thrown out for threatening a government official, convincing herself she'd be able to placate Mycroft by appealing to his sweet tooth once he was informed of her treatment of his brother. Today however, she will force herself to withstand his company for the benefit of the country.

Even though he's nothing but a parasite in her eyes, the damned brat held a special place in Mycroft's heart.

If anything can snap her colleague out of this uncharacteristic behavior, it would be Sherlock Holmes.

"Yes… and no." She answered ambiguously, having no intentions of making this any easier for him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The detective demanded, looking more irritated by the second.

"That your sister is not the main concern here." He looks puzzled at that, like there is only one sibling to worry about, the confused look on his face making her hate him even more.

You don't deserve a brother like him. Alicia Smallwood seethes in the privacy of her thoughts, her face remaining impassive as ever. He's the reason you're alive, you bastard!

"What? But I thought-"

"When was the last time you spoke to your brother?" She cut him off harshly, sitting back in her chair and folding her hands on her stomach.

The only Consulting Detective in the world blinked a few times, caught off guard.

"What does that have to do with anyth-"

"Answer the question!" At that moment she lost her temper, leaning over her desk, eyes flashing with anger, voice forceful and icy.

"…" Sherlock is once again stunned for a few seconds before answering wearily. "… a couple of weeks ago, why?"

"Did he act… differently, when you spoke with him?" Alicia asked moving away from his personal space, calmer now.

"Based on how we usually talk to each other? No, not really." Sherlock's face twisted into a frown, as if the mere thought of his brother left a sour taste in his mouth.

Nodding her head in response Lady Smallwood looks away, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face.

"It must have happened yesterday then…" She muttered to herself, forgetting for a short while that she had an audience.

"I have an uncanny difficulty in following you, what must have happened yesterday?" Sherlock was annoyed now, clearly frustrated with not being able to follow her line of thought like he can do with every other person on earth.

"The change… in your brother." She spoke softly.

"What are you talking about?!" He threw his arms up in sheer frustration. "What change?!"

"He became… colder and… disinterested." Alicia answered, her hands going up her forearms instinctively as she said that. "As if… as if he didn't care anymore…"

Sherlock snorted at this, waving his hand dismissively.

"Don't tell me you still fall for his Ice Man façade, Lady Smallwood." He stated, eyes shining with disappointment. "Surely, after all those years of you two working together, you would realize he's only putting up a show?"

She sighed.

"The thing is, Mr. Holmes…" she turned the laptop on her desk towards the curly haired man, and started the footage of Mycroft's visit to Sherrinford.

She watched his eyes widen and his face get paler than it already was, when the woman stated screaming.

"… I don't think he's pretending anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm sorry if Lady Smallwood comes out a bit too harsh in this one. She's just both really pissed about the way Sherlock has been treating his brother, and scared out of her wits of the metamorphosis Mycroft seemed to have gone through.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 5

"Hey brother..."

For the first few minutes Sherlock watched the interaction between his two siblings in silence. Noticing how utterly still and unmoved by anything his brother looked, despite Eurus reopening and rubbing salt into old wounds that healed years ago.

The more he looked at Mycroft, the more he had to remind himself that the elder Holmes was human.

If he didn't focus on the rise and fall of the elder Holmes's chest, he would have mistaken him for a statue.

When the Morse code messages were exchanged…

The detective's heart stopped.

Mycroft stood up, Eurus began screaming…

Sherlock's Mind-Palace started to crumble into pieces around him.

"This," Lady Smallwood's voice pulled the curly-haired man out of the impending destruction happening in his head. "is why I called you here, Sherlock." The elder woman looked deep into the younger Holmes's eyes, worry for a dear friend shining brightly in her own. "This confrontation happened over an hour ago, but the visible change in your brother's behavior started long before his chat with Eurus."

The world's only consulting detective nodded, not knowing what to say.

"Before…before he left for Sherrinford we…had a conversation about your sister's situation now that she proved herself capable of bypassing the island's security."

Sherlock's throat went dry.

He knew what that meant.

He just never thought he'd see the day Mycroft would allow it to happen.

A real death in the Holmes family.

No more smokescreens…no more games…

"Sherlock…Sherlock I don't think I'll be able to override his decision, if it's ever made final." Lady Smallwood spoke up, trying to snap the younger man from his trance.

Before the second Holmes has the chance to reply…

The door opened…and in came Mycroft himself.

"Lady Smallwood I need you to-" The ginger man cut himself off when he noticed the lady had company. "Ah…apologies. I wasn't aware you had company." He began backpedaling towards the door. "Perhaps I shall return later-"

But before Mycroft can disappear Sherlock bolted from his seat, and rounded on him.

"Mycroft Magnus Holmes!" He bellows, face red in anger.

The elder Holmes raised an eyebrow at that, his face blank, and doesn't say anything.

Despite the complete silence, it was clear he doesn't like what he sees, the cold aura gathering around him convey his feelings on the situation so well, words are not needed.

Sherlock, as usual, ignores this completely, opting to instead to yell right to the taller man's face.

"Have you lost your mind?!" His voice is so loud it goes up a few octaves. "What is all this talk about 'handling Eurus'?! How can you even think of doing something like this to her, she's your sister!"

He hoped to make Mycroft fell guilty, or at least explain himself.

But he just…stood there.

Watching the detective with eyes so emotionless and icy, Sherlock has to double-check if this is really his brother he's talking to and not an ice statute that just came to life.

It isn't long before the younger Holmes begins to shiver under the older one's cold stare, his earlier anger and bravado rapidly disappearing, the air around them starting to feel as if someone left the freezer open.

After a long minute of nothing but the adrenaline-filled beats of Sherlock's heart, filling the air…

Mycroft finally spoke up.

"So…" The single word came out sounding low and calculated, like it was spoken by an unfeeling robot and not an overprotective older brother that would give his very life if it meant saving his family. "This is the infamous Sherlock Holmes." The younger man watched with increasing alarm, as the familiar eyes gazed at him as if this was the very first time they ever met in person. "The rumors about you aren't wrong," His eyes narrowed, stare cold enough to freeze lava. "you really are causing more headaches than you're worth."

The minute those words leave Mycroft's mouth the younger man blisters back, looking as if he was slapped.

Mycroft may have called him 'foolish' during their many feuds…

He may have slipped in the occasional 'ungrateful brat' when he was really angry…

But Mycroft never, ever, called him 'worthless'.

Even Lady Smallwood shrinks in her seat, both bewildered and afraid.

"W-What?" Words barely make their way through the detective's mouth, as his throat feels as if it has a noose tightening around it with every breath he takes.

"I understand your sister's predicament may seem alarming to you," The older man stated, each word carefully chosen, as if this was a chess match and not a conversation between siblings. "But I'm afraid you have no say in the matter." He didn't sound regretful, nor did it look like it tears him up to say it. It was like talking to a computer program on legs, than a human. "and neither do your parents."

"What…?" Sherlock echoes himself, sounding as if air was literally punched out of his lungs.

"It is to my understanding that, in the official records, she was pronounced dead a very long time ago. Something that is sadly not true, as proven by events taking place during the past few weeks." He pulled out the pocket watch he always carried over his heart, and gazed at its high class appearance. "I have simply decided to…remedy that."

Somehow, though even he doesn't exactly know how, the curly-haired man managed to swallow open his throat enough to speak.

"So…this is it?" He rasped out, voice strained. "You're just going to sign the papers and just…let it happen?!" Sherlock demanded recovering his earlier vigor.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow in a way that would normally suggest faint amusement at the idiocy unfolding before him. And when the usual playful spark in the ice-blue eyes is instead replaced with cold indifference, Sherlock's heart sunk just a little bit lower than it already was.

"Isn't that what she deserves?" He asks in that same monotone, almost-dead voice. "She's hardly been the model citizen since she broke free from her little cage."

"She's family!" The detective could barely believe he was having this conversation. His mind could not wrap around the fact that he had to argue about the value of familial loyalties with Mycroft, the most loyal to a fault person he had the fortune to meet.

"What she is, is a criminal." The elder Holmes doesn't yell out his answer like Sherlock did, he didn't have to. His voice took such a low and dominating tone, everyone around him was forced to listen. "She committed mind manipulation, high property damage, and murdered innocent people. Yet you, the man who sent similar cases to prison with his own hands, are trying to defend her." His eyes narrowed again. "Tell me, Mr. Holmes…would you have me spare the life of your old nemesis, Jim Moriarty, simply because he happened to provide you with interesting cases?"

Sherlock found enough strength to growl.

"He has nothing to do with this!" He yells out. "He wasn't a family member!"

"Ah but he has everything to do with this, Mr. Holmes." Mycroft's smile was mirthless, and empty. "After all, wasn't he simply an extension of your sister's conscious? A way for her to interact with the outside world without actually being in it? His plans to engage you in that pointless game of 'Cat and Mouse' we're all implanted into him during their five-minute meeting, so I don't see why one shouldn't view them as simply a puppet and his puppeteer…" He snorted at the stubborn silence that could be heard on Sherlock's end. "Pawn or Mastermind, they are still criminals that fully deserve what is coming to them." He then lowers his head, a distant look of sadness appearing on his face. "Familial love never saved anyone…it is pointless to even try… As a thirst for blood, once awakened, can never we satisfied." Ice-blue eyes looked up then, still emotionless…still empty. "It can only result with more people dying for their amusement."

But, instead of being angry, Sherlock looks at the man in his older brother's body with concern and worry.

None of that sounded like the man he grew up with...

Mycroft wouldn't let Eurus's actions get in the way of protecting her.

Mycroft wouldn't look upon his own kin as if they were bloodthirsty monsters.

Mycroft would never give up like this.

"Mycroft…" The detective took a tentative step forwards, voice soft and quiet as if he was speaking with a frightened animal and not his elder brother. "What happened to you?"

The fox-haired man looked down at him, face devoid of emotion and eyes looking more like colored glass marbles, than windows to one's soul.

"Nothing." Came the cool response, tone betraying nothing. "Why?"

Sherlock wants to tell him.

Wants to scream out everything that's wrong with this situation.

To demand the location of his real brother, as he must have been replaced with an android look-alike.

To throw an enormous temper tantrum until Mycroft acts like himself again.

But…couldn't.

His tongue, usually unstoppable to the point of irritation, felt glued to his bottom jaw, forcing the detective to stay unusually quiet.

All he could do was hope the desperation and unspoken questions in his eyes, were enough for the elder man to deduce what would normally be spoken in a loud flow for angry shouts and gestures.

But, even if the strategy worked…Mycroft didn't show it.

His face remained the stoic mask of indifference, not matter what Sherlock threw at it.

Even when the elder spoke, it didn't give the results the curly-haired man was hoping for.

"If that's all, then I'm afraid I must be off." He then turns around and is fully prepared to leave the room, not paying any attention to the shocked looks on Sherlock and Lady Smallwood's faces.

"Mycroft!" The detective's vocal chords finally decide to work again.

The politician doesn't even look irritated with constantly being stopped from returning to his duties like he would a few days ago, and the younger Holmes began to question his ability to feel or even express any kind of emotion, at this point.

Mycroft, or someone wearing his skin, simply turned towards the detective with an expectant look in his eyes.

"Please…you can't do this." Sherlock looked close to tears, sounding like a six-year-old trying to talk an elder sibling out of running away from home, than he did an adult Consulting Detective. "It isn't like you."

The representative of the British Government didn't respond for a long time, only looked at him with a cool and uninterested stare.

"Why?" Mycroft asked in return. "I'm afraid I do not follow your line of thinking."

He turns around, and then looks over his shoulder at Sherlock.

"Isn't this how the 'Iceman' is supposed to act?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 6

"Everything is wrong now."

John knew something was wrong the moment Sherlock came home.

The normally very vocal detective, especially when it concerned his older brother and his actions, returned from confronting said relative completely silent.

That alone was enough for the doctor to worry about his best friend…

But it wasn't until he noticed how pale Sherlock was, that he began expecting the worse.

"How'd it go?" Watson asked tentatively, once the curly-haired man plopped down next to him on the worn out couch.

Sherlock didn't respond.

He just continued to stare at the wall in front of him with eyes wide open and more fearful, than he ever saw them.

Finally, after a minute of tense silence, he spoke.

"They were… so empty."

"Sherlock?"

"His eyes…" The detective clarified softly. "They were the only things he couldn't control about himself." He chuckled, though the sound sounded forced and devoid of actual joy. "Even when everything else about him confirms he's saying the truth… like his heart beating evenly, or his hands being dry and cool to the touch… You could always tell he was lying just by seeing the guilt in his eyes."

John stayed silent, waiting for the detective to continue.

"I could always tell, you know? What he was really thinking." The detective's voice came out little louder than a whisper. "It's true what they say about eyes and them being the windows to one's soul, and Mycroft's were the best proof of that." He sighed. "I saw how scared he was each time I got myself in mortal danger, I saw his anger when I did something that threatened his carrier, but more importantly… I saw how hurt he was when our parents tore into him for his actions concerning Eurus."

"Well…" John fidgeted in his seat. "He certainly could have handled it better."

"Could he?" Sherlock whispered, voice still distant. "As days go by I begin to doubt there was a better way…"

"Okay…" The doctor watched his friend with concern in his eyes. "How so?"

"Eurus is… sick. Was, for a very long time." Sherlock leaned over and rested his head in his hands. "Even before we met, she acted unlike a child her age. Possessive of me to a point of drowning my previous best friend in a well… Probably tried to burn Mycroft along with the house for trying to warn our parents… It is fortunate that he survived that encounter, otherwise she would have ended in far worse a facility than Sherrinford." He took a deep breath. "You've seen how she acted once Mycroft's back was turned. She tried to force me to kill one of you for the sake of amusement, murdered other people and messed with their minds, purely because she was bored..."

"The confinement couldn't have helped." John snorted.

"It wasn't his idea." The detective shook his head. "He's only continuing what someone else had already started."

"That uncle Mycroft talked about?"

"Uncle Rudi…" Sherlock spoke quietly, tasting the name against his lips. "The source of all our problems."

"Again, how so?"

"You think Mycroft was born wanting to take over the English Government?"

"Er… wasn't he?"

The detective shook his curly-haired head.

"No. In fact, I believe he wanted to be an artist." He chuckled though the laugh sounded hollow. "Can you imagine that? Mycroft Magnus Holmes… the famous painter of still imagery and fauna." Sherlock's face fell. "And then he stepped into our lives."

"Rudi?"

"Who else?" The detective snorted. "Mummy said he came by one day, after he found out Mycroft helped his son Harry with his math problems. Harry was in his second year in college, while my brother was six." He glared at the window, a frown firmly in place. "Rudi didn't bother asking Mummy for permission. He straight up picked Mycroft up from the kitchen table where he was drawing, and took him for a 'trip'." He sighed. "It was the first of many trips that completely changed both my older sibling's personality and his future."

John swallowed thickly.

"You're telling me… Mycroft has been groomed to become the British Government… since he was six?"

Sherlock simply nodded.

"Jesus Christ…" Watson tried to imagine a sweet, ginger little boy that laughed, giggled and drew beautiful pictures of everything his sharp ice-blue eyes could see, just like any other six year old. He then pictured the same child being forced to abandon his passion, and mercilessly molded into the walking ice-block he is now.

His mind refused to think about what could have made the boy chose 'Caring is not an advantage' as his life motto.

There was just too many things that could badly affect a child's psyche. Way too many.

And, considering this was the Holmes family, whatever happened to make an artistic child full of compassion, curiosity and innocence so guarded and fearful of failure, must have been horrid.

"Mycroft's training under Rudi was nothing short of pleasant, if my mother is to be believed." Sherlock whispered. "The only thing left intact from the child she once knew, was his eyes. The only thing uncle couldn't cover with ice."

"You… said something about them before."

"I have, haven't I?" Another mirthless chuckle. "I called them empty… The only thing that showed any kind of expression, even when he didn't want them to… was completely blank and devoid of emotion, when we had our conversation."

"That's…"

"More than a bit not good, yes." Sherlock added, not allowing his best friend to finish. "It means something is terribly wrong with my brother."

John wriggled in his seat, nervousness obvious in his posture.

"He's going to kill her, John." The detective stated suddenly.

"What?" Watson cried out, disbelief clearly seen covering his face. "He… He can't do that!"

"Why not? He's on top of the government food chain, he practically creates the law we now abide." The detective sighed. "I doubt there will be anyone moronic enough to stand against him if he announced he wanted to… dispose of a dangerous criminal, since he's the one signing all their paychecks."

John bit his lip, he couldn't argue with that logic, though there was something he could raise an objection about in all this.

"Come on, Sherlock, I'm sure he's not being serious." He gently shoved the taller man's shoulder. "I mean, this is Mycroft we're talking about, remember? Brother incarnate with a wee pinch of overprotectiveness?" The doctor then laughed trying to tone down the tension. "He may be a bit gloomy after everything that happened on the island, but there is absolutely no way he's going to let anyone under his protection, die." He then gave his best friend an encouraging smile. "Especially if it's a younger sibling."

But Sherlock didn't look reassured.

"Mycroft didn't act like it."

John tilted his sandy-colored head.

"Like what?"

The detective looked back at him, his own eyes hollow.

"Like it mattered if we're related or not."

He turned away again.

"Eurus is a murderer." Sherlock stated shakily. "So that's how he's going to treat her."


	7. Chapter 7

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 7

"Shattering the pretense."

 

It didn't take long for the Holmes parents, Siger and Violet, to pry information out of a grief-stricken Sherlock and show up unceremoniously on their eldest son's doorstep, demanding to see him.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Holmes." Anthea, the person sitting outside Mycroft's office, didn't sound apologetic in the least, as she looked at the furious mother before her, looking more than just a little unimpressed with what she saw. "But Mr. Holmes is busy with a delegation from France right now, and cannot be disturbed."

But Violet was having none of it.

She slammed her hands on the desk the PA was sitting at, fire in her eyes and anger in her voice.

"Tell him it's Mummy." Ms. Holmes practically hissed out. "And believe me when I tell you, he'll come running."

'Like a dog beckoned by its master' went unsaid but Anthea still heard it. So confident was the mother of the troublesome Holmes siblings, of her hold over her elder son. The PA's own eyes narrowed, glaring at the elderly lady with all the hate she could muster without making it obvious.

"Yes, Ms. Holmes." Anthea responded, voice icier than thought possible as she got up from her seat and marched over to the door she was tasked with guarding.

With a few well-placed knocks, she was allowed inside.

After a minute of tense silence, two sharply-dressed men left the room and the Holmes parents were signaled in.

With a huff, Violet marched into Mycroft's dark domain wanting nothing more than to set her boy straight. Expecting the man to flinch and curl onto himself from her thunderous expression alone, like every other time he was about to be punished for something wrong that he did.

But he remained as he was seated, eyes narrowed and back straight as a stick.

For a moment all they did was stare at each other in complete and utter silence, sewing in the disappointment that hung in the air like a particularly nasty fog.

Before the Government himself decided to speak.

"I thought that I told Sherlock the situation is out of your control." His voice was low and dangerous, tones it never took when talking to his mother.

Violet was scandalized.

"If you thought we would just stand there and watch you murder our daughter, then I afraid you'll just end up disappointed!" She slammed her fists on the dark oaken desk, much like she did back in the hallway. "If you do not reconsider your decision regarding your treatment of Eurus we'll-"

"You'll, what?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat, looking far too calm for the elderly woman's liking. "Please, do continue with your threat. I so long to hear what you have planned for me if I do not follow with your demands."

'He's mocking me.' Ms. Holmes thought, furiously biting her bottom lip. 'Why that disrespectful little-'

"We'll make all of this public!" She retorted, voice raised and filled with anger. "The island, the treatment of people locked up in there… everything! And, with that amount of exposed secrets, don't think you'll be able to retain your job!"

For a moment all Mycroft did was blink blankly at her, face an expressionless mask.

Before he responded.

"I'm sorry," Violet calmed down a bit at that, thinking things were finally falling into the usual order. "At some point I must have given you the impression that my occupation is minuscule enough for me to lose it." He placed his hand over his heart in a mocking gesture of how serious he was being. "Please accept my heartfelt apology."

Both Holmes parents blistered back, shocked by the raw sarcasm in his voice. It was a tone that their eldest never used when addressing them, as he was always respectful when talking to his parents.

A tiny voice at the back of Violet's head whispered that he had every right to be angry. That maybe if they gave him the chance to explain himself way back when, then none of this would be happening right now, but she drowned it with her own disappointment and rage.

Mycroft threatened one of her children…

His feelings right now are incomparable to the peril he placed his sister into.

'But isn't he your child too?' The voice returned, a bit stronger this time.

Once again she ignored it.

'No. Right now he isn't.' She replied in thought, eyes sharpening again.

She came here to scold her eldest and make sure none of her foolish kids lose their lives in the process.

"Mycroft what you are about to do to Eurus is… it's inhuman!" She growled like an angry lioness. "How can you even think about doing something like that to her, when all her actions come from spending most of her life in the Hell you created?!"

The fox-haired man's eyebrows rose.

"I see…" He said slowly. "It seems you are more delusional than I had previously thought."

Violet blistered.

"I beg your pardon?!" Siger, who up to this point allowed to let his wife handle the situation, demanded looking just as offended as Ms. Holmes.

"You seem to have convinced yourself that all this is my doing, my fault." He leaned forwards, resting his shoulders on the wooden contraption in front of him and subsequently taking on a similar pose to that of his younger brother when in thought. "But could I really be held responsible?"

"Of course!" Both parents spoke up this time. "You're the one that took her away and lied about her death!"

"What Rudolph Holmes and I did, was respond to the given situation to the best of our ability." Mycroft retorted, voice cold. "Perhaps if you didn't bluntly disregard your own involvement in the matter, you would have seen what it really was."

"You dare accuse us of-"

"Oh I dare, Ms. Holmes." He smirked, before turning serious once more. "I dare because there is no one more at fault here, than you two." Now Mycroft's voice was loud and dominating, a concerning combination when confronting a man who no longer had the boundaries keeping him from hurting others. "From what I've read in the files, you had your chance to prevent her actions from escalating to this level when an institution for troubled children offered to give her much needed rehabilitation, after one of your sons raised awareness to her strange behavior." He looked at them, accusation clear in his sharp eyes. "The only reason you refused take it, is because your delusional outlook on the world prevented you from seeing that institution for what it was, preferring to think of it as a prison that will permanently dispose you of your child if you accept their help." His mouth contorted into a sneer. "Had you been the 'responsible' and 'caring' parents that you clearly believe yourself to be, you would have done what was best for your child, regardless of your irrational fears and concerns." His eyes turned colder than the Holmes parents ever saw them. "Seeing that you did close to nothing to help your troubled daughter, preferring to either ignore the problem or throw it on someone else's shoulders when it became too overbearing, makes me question how any of your children remained in your care as long as they did."

Shocked into silence the two elders simply stared at the man before them, trying to find the child they raised somewhere inside the uncaring eyes looking back at them.

But they could find nothing of the sort.

Only an impenetrable coat of ice.

Violet swallowed thickly, deciding to switch tactics.

"Please Mycroft… reconsider your decision about Eurus. She was acting out because of the isolation you've placed her in, and I'm sure she'll be more than happy to cooperate if you just give us the chance to speak to her." She sobbed, finally releasing the tears that threatened to fall the moment Sherlock gave them the news. "We've already been tricked into believing one of our children has died twice in our lifetimes. I do not think we can bear going through that pain again."

The Mycroft she raised would have agreed to this.

No…

The Mycroft she raised would have never allowed anything bad to happen to any of his younger siblings in the first place.

For a moment, all the elder Holmes son did was watch them with a blank look on his face…

Before he erupted in laughter that sounded hollow and completely devoid of mirth, catching both parents off guard.

They stared at him, hugging each other in fear of what he may say or do next, until he finally spoke.

"You selfish, selfish people." He shook his head, still chuckling. A second later he stood up and leaned over his desk, cold fury in his eyes. "How dare you come here, threaten me and then demand I fix your mess to your favor?! How dare you stand here and suggest sparing your daughter's life, without taking into consideration all the mothers that lost their children to her psychotic mind?! How dare you defend her and blame everyone, but yourself, for her actions?!" He glared at them, angry and obviously insulted. "What gave you the right to do any of this?!"

Violet pressed herself closer to Siger, fear finally getting the better of her.

This wasn't the son she watched grow up.

"You do not have to answer, it doesn't matter at the moment." Mycroft continued, sounding calmer now. "You came here to discuss what is to be done with Eurus Holmes so, against my better judgement, we shall commence right to it." He pressed a button on his desk. "Send them in, Anthea."

"W-Wait, who else will be joining us?" Siger finally gathered enough courage to speak. "This is a family matter-"

"That involves many other families, and not just yours." Mycroft retorted, sending the older man an icy glare. "They should have a say in how Eurus Holmes is supposed to be dealt with." His expression softened and he shook his head regretfully. "They deserve as much after everything she put them through."

Violet swallowed, hugging her husband tighter.

Soon the door opened, and five elderly couples and one lone woman that looked older than the rest, entered the dark room either holding hands or hugging themselves for comfort.

When he noticed the lone woman, Mycroft stood up from his seat and walked up to her.

"I am glad you found the strength to attend this meeting, Ms. Anders." He spoke softly as he led the elderly lady to the chair behind his desk. "Hopefully this will put a satisfying conclusion to this horrendous mess." He added quietly, shaking his head.

The lady, much to Violet's confusion, smiled at her son and gently patted him on the chest.

"Of course I came, dear boy." Her smile faded a bit. "My son would want me to, after all…"

Mycroft looked at her and then at the other grieving parents.

"I'm so sorry I didn't manage to prevent all this from happening in the first place." He sighed lowering his head in a rear sign of humiliation. "My duty is to protect the people of the United Kingdom and instead I allowed your children to be murdered by a psychopath, here on my turf. This… this is an enormous failure on my part."

"Now my boy, none of that, please." Ms. Anders said sternly, gently pushing Mycroft's chin back up. "From what I've heard, you did all you could. It is not your fault you are physically incapable of keeping tabs on everything that can go wrong." She gave him a soft smile. "No more blaming yourself about all this, okay?"

The other grieving parents also came forwards to ease his guilt, much to the Holmes couple's surprise.

It appeared they had no ill will towards Mycroft, even with his direct connection to the murderer of their kids.

"Ms. Anders is right, you know." One of the elderly men said, patting him on the shoulder. "Even after… the atrocity," He swallowed thickly. "has been committed, you did all you could to make sure we had everything we needed. Took care of the funeral procedures, got us medical help, paid our bills when we weren't able to focus on the real world because of grief, and checked up on us yourself whenever you had the time." He smiled. "Even if we had held you responsible, which we didn't, you've more than earned yourself our forgiveness."

The other couples humed and nodded in agreement.

Violet and Siger watched this open show of affection, stunned.

Apparently Mycroft feels responsible for Eurus's actions, at least when it came to those she hurt. So much so in fact, that he tried his hardest to make sure they didn't have to deal with the enormous pain alone. He was there for them in more ways than one, it seemed, never able to apologize enough for the misery his little sister caused.

This showed he really cared about those under his protection, and that he takes seeing them hurt as a large failure on his part.

Realizing that, something lifted from the Holmes parents' eyes, and they looked at their eldest son as if this was the first time they truly saw him.

"Mycroft…" Violet whispered under her breath.

Hearing all the approval around him, the red-haired man smiled a smile that would have been genuine if it wasn't for the fact that the spark that usually accompanied his eyes when he was truly happy, was absent.

"Thank you all for your kind words." He nodded his head in thanks. "But, regardless of my feelings towards the situation, we are here to discuss something that needs to be resolved quickly for all of your sanities, and peace of mind."

The mood immediately turns serious, as they all nodded and turned to the Holmes couple that has been ignored ever since everyone came in.

Siger and Violet shrunk under their penetrating gazes.

"As much as I would like to solve this in my own way, you all deserve to discuss between yourselves what kind of punishment would suit the crimes Eurus Holmes has committed against you." Mycroft then backed away from the desk, voicelessly giving up his say in the matter and communicating to them that he'll agree to whatever they decide was the best course of action.

For a long while all they did was look at each other in silence, before suggestions begun flowing between the gathered elders.

Violet couldn't believe this was happening.

Here, in this very room, right in front of her… people were discussing how to best punish her daughter for all the wrongdoings she has committed…

And she couldn't do anything about it.

There was never a moment in her life during which she felt more helpless than right now.

'This is it…' Ms. Holmes thought, tears falling freely now. 'They are going to kill her…'

After what seemed like ages, Ms. Anders spoke up on behalf of the group.

"We came to a conclusion, Mycroft." She was addressing the older Holmes brother but her wise, brown eyes were glaring at Violet and Siger.

In the corner of her vision, Ms. Holmes saw her son nod.

"And what would that be?" He asked, voice quiet and ready to accept anything.

"As easy as it would be to simply… dispose of her." The elderly lady's eyes softened. "We are not savages. We wish only for Eurus to be punished, no one else. Not you, not Sherlock and not her parents."

Violet swallowed thickly.

Another nod could be seen in Mycroft's corner, signaling for her to continue.

"So if it is okay with you…"

"I already told you I will do whatever it is you all agree on." The fox-haired man shook his head. "This has been your decision to make from the beginning, not mine."

"We would like you to simply ensure that she will never hurt anyone ever again."

Mycroft frowned at that.

"I'm afraid keeping her in prison hasn't worked so far…" He spoke up softly. "She has already proved that with her recent… stunt."

"We're not asking you to lock her up once more, Mycroft-dear." Ms. Anders spoke up locking her eyes with his. "We're asking you to dispose of the one thing that allows her to cause harm."

Violet and Siger flinched at the harsh tone, as well as the indication of what she means.

Mycroft stayed silent for a moment before nodding.

"I shall make the necessary preparations." He then looked at the elderly people gather around his desk. "Anthea will make sure you all have a safe return to your homes."

And with a few last goodbye hugs from the concerned elders, both them and Mycroft exited the room.

Leaving the Holmes parents alone with their thoughts, with nothing but their beating hearts to keep them company.


	8. Chapter 8

"Ultra Imfirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 8

"Brave on, little boy, lost in a gray fog. How long will you remain such, before they realize you're not coming back?" pt.1

Cassandra Anders could not contain her surprise when, just a few days after their first meeting when they all gathered to discuss how to best handle Eurus, the Holmes elders appeared on her doorstep.

She didn't remember giving them her address, and Mycroft assured her it was secured and under heavy surveillance since the Holmes sister's rampage.

Huffing in annoyance she assumed they must have asked their detective son for her location.

"Can I help you both with anything?" She asked coldly, fully prepared to call the police to get those people off her property if they become to bothersome. Her normally so kind and cheerful face was now a mask of indifference and barely hidden disgust, as she had no respect for Mycroft's parents whatsoever.

Violet seemed to shrink at her icy glare, still feeling the after effects of the one her eldest gave her not too long ago.

"We… wished to discuss something with you, Ms. Anders." She whispered, clutching her husband's arm like a life-line.

Cassandra's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"If it's about Eurus and her punishment, I'm afraid the decision has been made final and there is nothing I can do even if I wanted to." She then walked back a step in order to close the door in their faces. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a grandson that needs to be prepared for kindergarten."

But before she could excuse herself from their presence…

"Wait, Ms. Anders, please!" Siger suddenly placed his hand on the door, preventing it from closing. "It's not about Eurus!"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow in a perfect mimicry of her fox-haired charge.

"Is that so..." She started slowly, inviting them to continue.

The man just nodded, now determined to keep her interest.

"Sherlock said you've been a psychologist in your prime… is that true?"

Well… that's not what she was expecting at all.

"...and if it is?" She answered smoothly.

"Could..." Violet whispered, finally returning to the conversation. "Could you tell us what happened to Mycroft?" She finally looked up from staring at the doormat. "He's been… different, since Eurus came back to our lives."

'That is an understatement.' She thought with a snort. 'The poor boy's emotional stability has been crushed into dust, by the people he valued the most. I say it's a miracle he lasted as long as he did without experiencing a mental breakdown.'

Ms. Anders's eyes narrowed in anger.

"I'm afraid that what you're asking for, is classified information. One I can only share with the agreement of my client." She answered, voice calm and even, though her brown eyes betrayed the anger she felt. "And even if my doctor policy allowed me to give you the information you seek, I don't think you deserve to know."

They flinched at the harshness of her tone but otherwise remained determined to convince her.

"Please..." Violet Holmes looked deep into her eyes, unshed tears shining in them. "I just want to know what caused my son to change so much in such a short amount of time."

Despite her enormous grudge against those irresponsible parent, something in Cassandra softened at the scared and worried tone Violet's voice just took.

She sighed, shaking her head sadly.

"Oh Ms. Holmes where do I even begin..."  
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Cassandra led the couple into her living room so that they could make themselves comfortable, before leaving for her kitchen to make something hot to drink.

She knew that it was going to be a very long and painful conversation for the two of them, and a cup of nice calming tea might be just what they'll need to get through it.

All of them, herself included. As Mycroft became very dear to her in the short time they knew each other, and his past was something he confined in her, after a stern lecture about bottling one's emotions for an extended period of time. Telling his parents parts of his history that they were either too blind to notice happening before their very eyes or simply not pirvy to, felt like betraying the trust he bestowed her with.

'I'm sorry, Mycroft.' Cassandra thought, feeling guilty about what she was about to do. 'But maybe my words will make them see, what your actions alone, couldn't. Maybe when they hear what you've been through… what you've sacrificed to keep your family safe and whole, they'll realize how horribly they treated the amazing son they've been graced with.'

With a deep sigh she rejoined the couple in the living room.

After giving them each a cup of Earl Grey, she leaned back in her seat.

"I must admit that, though sudden, the change in your son's behavior has been long since foretold by the events he has partaken in throughout his life." The psychologist took a long sip from her own mug before continuing. "If you look at said events and how they would affect a human's psyche, it is truly a wonder he didn't undergo it sooner."

"You'll have to provide examples for us, Ms. Anders." Violet said, voice small and shaky. "Mycroft was never a very expressive person, even when he was a young child. We were never informed of every traumatizing thing that occurred while he was at work."

Cassandra Anders let out a sad chuckle and shook her head.

"But, Ms. Holmes… I'm not talking about his adult years, I'm talking about his childhood."

Both parents looked up, startled and shocked.

"What? But nothing ever-"

"How would you know?" Cassandra cut them off with an angry hiss. "You barely pay any attention to him now, why would him being younger change that?"

"He's our son!" Siger answered, raising his voice. "We raised him!"

"Did you really?" She glared at them. "I seem to remember the age of a human entering adulthood to be eighteen, not six!"

"What are you talking about?!" Now Violet was also screaming. "We supported him till he was old enough to get his first job in the Government! Which he was given at age 24!"

But Ms. Anders just laughed.

Look at those fools.

They really know nothing about their son.

Nothing at all.

They didn't know his childhood has been robbed from him, right under their noses.

That they let it happen with no hesitation… that they did nothing to stop it.

They don't know what he had seen, what he's been through…

Because Mycroft would not allow them, or anyone, to be burdened with his problems.

And it wasn't as if they would actually listen to him, even if he had tried to tell them.

They had their chance when they met him to discuss the reappearance of Eurus. Instead of owning up to their parental failures, they chose to place all of them on the one person who didn't deserve any of them. And now, that the results of that action have reared their ugly heads, they come to her for answers they could have gotten if they just listened, when Mycroft was desperate for them to understand all the reasons why.

Cassandra couldn't feel more disgusted with fellow human beings, if she tried.

"Please, Ms. Holmes, be honest with yourself." Cassandra shook her head at the distraught mother. "We all know Mycroft hasn't been under your care since his late uncle Rudolph took him for the first of the many 'trips'."

Violet spluttered.

"He has nothing to do with any-"

"Oh but he very much does, Ms. Holmes." Cassandra took another large sip of her cooling tea, before continuing to explain the situation to the clueless adults before her. "You see he's the starting point of the avalanche that crushed the boy you once knew. Everything that happened is because of what he taught your son."

The Holmes parents stared at her, speechless for a good few seconds, before finally speaking up once again.

"Rudolph was very… affectionate with Mycroft, that is true." Siger nodded his head slowly. "Even with Sherlock and Eurus already born, he barely even acknowledged them, preferring the company of our eldest over everyone else's." His gaze turned harder then. "But not only is he long dead, but also has nothing to do with how Mycroft is acting right now."

Cassandra Anders shook her head again.

"Tell me, Mr. Holmes..." She played around with her mug, not looking the younger man in the eyes. "Do you know what job your wife's older brother actually occupied?"

Violet frowned.

"He occupied the same place in the British Government, Mycroft does today." She looked up at Cassandra. "So I'm assuming it was a position in the department of defense."

The psychologist in the room barely contained her laughter.

It was horrifying how much they don't know about their own child, his mare occupation being only a vague guess to them.

But… as dreadful as that information is, nothing compares to the knowledge that they did nothing to change that.

They never sat the boy down and asked him to be honest with them, regardless of the danger the knowledge might put them in. Not in the recent years, and certainty not when he was making his first baby steps towards the amount of power and influence he now yields on a daily basis, all those years ago.

What did they ever do to deserve him, Cassandra Anders will never know.

Because in her eyes, they don't. At all.

"Again, your information is incomplete, Mr. and Ms. Holmes." She stated, leveling the pair with an even stare. "Your son doesn't just work for one department in our wonderful Government. He juggles all of them, everyday day of the week with little to no breaks, since the occupation became empty. Because he's both leader and guardian of the United Kingdom, can you imagine that? Every law you follow, every political problem our country faces, every crisis that suddenly gets resolved before it had the chance to properly wreak havoc.. .all this and more is monitored and controlled by your son." She then snorted. "And you never knew."

But Siger was already shaking his silver head.

"That… that's impossible." He stated, clearly in denial. "You're saying he alone controls a country but… that can't be true, there is no way one person can keep track of everything, that's why there is more than one department taking care of all this."

"And yet… your boy found a way to make that work." Cassandra smiled at the mention of the ginger haired man that she came to respect so much. "Aren't you proud of him, Siger?" She then scoffed and shook her head. "No… of course you're not. Why would you be? After all… he had kept that one secret from you. It didn't matter that he did it out of a strong desire to protect you from the truth, because he was worried sick you could not take it. No. What you cared about was that he still lied." She sighed. "Good intentions or bad, a lie is a lie." She then spoke with an amount of sarcasm that wasn't there before. "Why even bother with his side of the story?"

Both Violet and Siger grit their teeth.

"That doesn't excuse him." They hiss out.

"Why not?" Cassandra didn't miss a beat. "After all something as petty as ignorance excused you of all fault, when it comes to Eurus and her mental issues."

It was clear they both wanted to say something, but decided otherwise.

'What's wrong? Cat got your tongues?' She thought, sarcastically. 'Good.'

Though a small part of her wished they'd put up more of a fight, if only so she can knock them down harder.

"Moving on then," Cassandra was disappointed with the lack of liquid in her mug. "When exactly do you think he took over after your brother, Ms. Holmes?"

She seemed to be gazing at the ex-psychologist with suspicion shining in her eyes, before slowly answering.

"I already told you that, Ms. Anders." She sounded like a mother explaining something to a child for the millionth time, tone stiff and condescending. "Rudolph died when Mycroft was twenty-three, but my son didn't take over… leading the Government, as you were so kind to clear up a few moments ago, until he was twenty-nine." She blinked suddenly, her conviction suddenly dying. "At least… that is what's written in Mycroft's CV… by the Government."

Cassandra smiled.

'Would you look at that...' She thought sarcastically. 'She can learn.'

"Those are lies too, aren't they?" Violet asked, voice small and scared.

Ms. Anders didn't respond. Only stared at the younger woman, willing her to come to her own conclusions.

The Holmes mother swallowed thickly, her hand automatically reaching for Siger's arm.

"When..." She couldn't finish on the first try, her fear blocking her vocal cords. "When did Mycroft really take over from my brother?"

Cassandra debated whether or not they deserve to know, but ultimately she decided that, even if they didn't, the knowledge will help with fixing Mycroft's broken relationship with his parents.

She took a deep breath.

'Here it goes...'

"Your son took over Rudolph's position exactly twenty-four hours after he was assassinated by an opposing government." She paused. "Which happened a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday."

She watched as both of them freeze, realization hitting them like a ton of bricks. Facts and behaviors finally connecting together, making the bigger picture a bit more visible to the naked eye.

"That's… but he said… how?" Questions just began flowing from both Holmes parents, as they desperately tried to comprehend what has just been revealed to them.

'There.' Cassandra thought, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. 'Now they know. Let's see what they do with that knowledge.'

Siger looked pale… really, really pale.

"Oh God..." He whispered, eyes wide. "All this time we though he got consumed by law studies and that's why he no longer spent time with us and his siblings… while in fact he was struggling to keep England from falling apart on his watch…" The elder man looked up at the psychologist, eyes foggy and unseeing. "I… remember when we somehow convinced him to come home for winter break." Siger swallowed thickly. "He… was so stressed during those days, locking himself in his room the moment meals were over..." His eyes turned glassy and he blinked the tears away. "I… we teased him about it… rather mercilessly, thinking he's just worrying about his grades and upcoming exams. It simply didn't make sense at the time. Why would someone as smart as Mycroft be concerned about tests he can probably ace in his sleep?" He shook his head in shame. "That's mostly why everyone, including myself, was so angry when he announced he suddenly had to go back to school on Christmas Day..."

#Flashback#

"This is ridiculous, Mycroft!" Siger screamed, throwing his arms in the air in sheer frustration.

"Father, please..." The young ginger pleaded, exhaustion and stress clear in both tone and his ice-blue eyes, as he rubbed at them with his right hand.

"How stupid do you think we are, boy?!" But the parent wasn't about to let this all go. "It's the beginning of school break! How can you be called to University already?!"

Mycroft sighed, clearly getting annoyed with where the conversation was going.

"This isn't up for debate." He said sternly. "I'm sorry that our time together is cut so painfully short, but this isn't something I can control!"

Siger looked disgusted.

"I can't believe you." The elder man hissed at his son. "Even after spending the majority of the year apart from us, you don't even have the decency to stay with your family for Christmas!"

The angry frown on the nineteen-year-old's face was the first warning the parent got that his, normally cool and collected, son was slowly losing his patience.

"What I can't believe is the fact that I have to repeat myself!" He all but blew up in Siger's face, the stress regarding the Government that has been thrust upon his shoulders prematurely, finally getting the better of him. "How hard is it to understand that this isn't something I can just ignore?!"

"Stop making up excuses to stay away from your family!"

"Stop making it look like this is something I do willingly!"

Before Siger had the time to respond, Mycroft's phone started ringing.

Immediately the teenager's hand rushed towards his jeans pocket, in order to fish out the inferior devise before it annoyed anyone else with it's ungodly screeching.

The second he saw who the caller is, a quiet curse escaped his mouth.

"Don't even think about it." Siger snarled, when he saw Mycroft move to answer the phone. "We're nowhere near done with this conversation."

The fox-haired youth swallowed the lump that suddenly formed inside his throat.

"I'm sorry..." He said, voice nearly drowned by his own ringtone. "But I have to take this call."

"Mycroft if you answer that phone-"

"Listen, I know you, mummy and Sherlock interpret this as me trying to get away from you all to focus on my studies." Mycroft ran a hand through his short, curly hair in order to calm his growing nerves. "That I probably got a colleague to ring me at this precise moment in time so that I have an excuse. And, truly, I cannot blame you from thinking that, as I've been quite… distant lately. But trust me when I say, the situation I'm in is not that simple!"

"Then explain yourself!" Violet decided to join the heated argument. "Tell you why it is impossible for you to spend Christmas with your loved-ones."

At that, the poor nineteen-year-old deflated, looking more exhausted than ever before. His shoulders slumped as if crushed under an enormous weight. One that he, not only has to bare alone, but also without being able to consult with anyone else.

"Believe me, there is nothing I want to do more." He whispered, honesty shining in his ice-blue eyes. "But I can't, I'm sorry." Mycroft looked deep into the similarly colored orbs of his parents. "You're going to have to trust me when I say this has nothing to do with my desire for solitude." The caller was already calling for the second time, clearly his patience has been tested enough.

Siger and Violet could see the plead in his eyes.

How much he wished they would just look back at him, and say 'we believe you, son'.

But the parents grew weary of all the secrecy.

"Go then, if you must." Siger spat out, looking at his son with cold fury that, he now knows, the boy did not deserve."But don't bother coming back."

He turned his back on Mycroft then, completely missing the shocked and pained expression that took residence on the young man's face.

Violet didn't say anything. Even when her son looked to her for intervention, the Holmes mother narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

She saw Mycroft swallow, the pained expression going down along with the saliva, leaving behind what will one day be called 'The Iceman Mask'.

"I… understand." He whispered, not trusting his voice to not betray him and crack. That said, he turned heel and left, phone already placed against his ear, muttering an apology to whoever was on the other side.

And then he was gone.

Unsurprisingly… he didn't come back.

#End of Flashback#

Siger's eyes got misty again.

"Why?" He asked, tears running down his cheeks. "Why didn't we trust him, Violet? Where did all that mistrust come from? What did he ever do to deserve it? Yes, he had his secrets, but what kind of teenager doesn't? That knowledge alone does not justify our treatment of him that day." Siger shook his head. "Especially… especially since he was so supportive… so gentle and understanding towards us and Sherlock during our recovery from Eurus's 'death', becoming an anchor we all leaned on for months on end. He was so strong during those days, letting all of us cry on his shoulder, as he whispered reassurance into our ears until we calmed down... You won't believe how easy it was to just let him take care of us, and not the other way around..." Fear suddenly appeared in the man's blue orbs. "Did… did we ever… comfort him, Violet? He… he put on a brave facade but… he couldn't have been taking all this much better than Sherlock. Especially… especially since he was in on Rudy's secret..." He flinched, appalled by his earlier actions towards Mycroft. "How… How did it come to this?" The man then buried his head in his hands and started weeping.

Violet didn't have the answers to any of her husband's questions, so she just wrapped her arms around him and hugged Siger close.

Cassandra's eyes softened as the genuine regret could hear in the younger man's tone.

The blinders were off… and the naked truth glared back at the eldest Holmes, finally exposed in its entirety.

'They see what they did to him… only it's too little too late.' She thought shaking her head in grief, remembering how Mycroft's, usually so expressive, eyes were lifeless and dull, during their last meeting.

"So this…" The psychologist's attention snapped back towards the crying bundle as Violet's words. "is what happened to Myc..." The woman's voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear. "He tried so hard to make sure we all had proper care when facing hard times, didn't pay attention to the growing cracks in his own armor… He put up with our mistrust and neglect in favor of his younger brother and Sherlock's developing hatred for him, while simultaneously bending over backwards trying to live up to Rudolph's expectations as leader of the United Kingdom, all on his own with no one to ask for advice, for decades." Violet shook her head. "You were right, Ms. Anders."

"Oh?" Cassandra prompted, her small victory feeling hollow.

"It is a wonder he didn't crack under all of that sooner." Ms. Holmes added in a whisper. "Dear God… what have we done?"

"He was already standing over the cliff long before Eurus's return..." Cassandra responded kindly. "You two simply… delivered the final push."

They flinched at the metaphor, tightening their hug, desperate for comfort.

"How..." Siger finally looked up, though the tears never stopped flowing. "How do we help him? Make this right?" His blue eyes were shining with determination. "We let him shoulder all the responsibility and blame for far too long." Siger's strong hand enveloped Violet's fragile one. "I think it's high time we start acting like his parents."

His wife looked up at him and, after a few seconds, her own eyes began shining with determination.

She nodded her head, squeezing her husband's hand in return.

They then turned to Ms. Anders, waiting for her to show them how to achieve redemption in Mycroft's eyes.

But the ex-psychologist was shaking her head sadly, that simple movement snuffing out the tiny flame of hope that sparked in their hearts.

"You poor naive fools..." She whispered, though it lacked her earlier bite, voice now filled with nothing but grief. "Even if you apologize and promise to make it all up to him, it won't change a thing." A shaky breath left her chest.

"W-What do you mean?" Violet was now crying.

"Don't you see?" Cassandra asked, shaking her head again. "We're not dealing with Mycroft, anymore." She sighed. "You see, when you treat a caring older brother like he's the scum of the earth his entire life, regardless of his actual actions..." She then looked up at the terrified couple. "You can't really expect him to care once you finally realize your mistakes."

They continued to stare at her, shock and terror returning back on their faces.

"Mycroft Holmes created the 'Iceman' mask to protect those he loved from potential enemies, by pretending he doesn't care..." She paused. "Now, when everyone turned their backs on him… that mask swallowed him whole."

"Are you saying..." Siger swallowed. "That there is no way to fix it?"

Ms. Anders snickered, though there was no mirth in the action.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes… you misunderstand yet again." She shook her wise head. "I'm not saying you can't fix your failures in parenting..."

Her brown orbs met his blue eyes.

"I'm saying there is nothing left for you to fix."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the beggining of a small look into Mycroft's past I called 'Hidden beneath the Ice'   
> Hope you like it :)

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 9

"What's hidden beneath the ice: Loss"

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft already knew whoever it was, it couldn't be good news.

"I'll get it!" Thirteen-year-old Sherlock called, before rushing to the front entrance.

The ginger youth could hear the door swing open and a knot tightened around his stomach.

After a few minutes his curly haired brat of a brother was banging against his bedroom door.

"Hey, Fatcroft! He says he's here to talk to you." He made a small pause to catch his breath, but to the elder Holmes it felt like an eternity. "It's about uncle Rudy."

Mycroft's heart sank.

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"...what?"

He knew this was stupid...

He knew he shouldn't be questioning what the agent just told him...

But it was just so hard to believe...

The man before him didn't seem to mind the dumb question being thrown his way, as he simply gazed at Mycroft with a sad look on his face as he repeated what he came here to say.

"Rudolph Holmes has been shot during his conference with the Turkish president. I'm afraid the wound is fatal. He is now awaiting you at the hospital. I'm sorry."

Despite hearing this a second time, the fox-haired teenager's brain refused to accept it as a fact.

It wasn't true.

It COULDN'T be.

Uncle Rudy can't die NOW!

He… He wasn't READY.

Mycroft felt like a child being told his parents were dead and that he was now solely responsible for his siblings.

Mainly because, he was.

That's exactly what was gonna happen after Rudy breathes his last breath.

Swallowing the cries and screams that desperately wanted to get out of his throat, he schooled his face into something more professional before addressing the agent.

"I..." He hated this. This… this plain show of weakness. The way his body shivered, the way his voice broke… He was supposed to be better than that.

"Caring is not an advantage."

He repeated those words like a mantra, until his body decided to act like a respectful adult that knew what he was signing up for, and wasn't affected by a family member's death.

"I would like to see him now, if you please."

"Of course, sir."

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The hospital room was as sickly looking and pale as the man it was holding.

Uncle Rudy's face was white, his skin clammy and covered with sweat, breathing ragged and painful to listen to.

The bandages over his heart sporting growing bloodstains.

Mycroft bit his lip.

His uncle didn't have long.

10-15 minutes.

That's all the time the boy had before the weight of the world was placed on his young shoulders.

He took a break and quietly closed the door behind him, trying not to disturb his injured relative.

Despite his efforts, the older man still woke up.

"Boy?" He whispered, opening one eye to look towards the entrance to his room.

"Yes, uncle." Mycroft nodded and walked up to the bed. "I'm here."

Rudolph smiled a pained smile at his star pupil before his face turned serious again.

"You know what's happening, don't you, Mycroft?"

Mycroft nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

Rudy let out a dry chuckle, though it sounded more like a pained groan.

"Perceptive… .as always... my boy."

He began closing his eyes but Mycroft grabbed his hand ruffly.

"Don't!" The boy didn't mean for it to come out so loud. Nor that desperate and begging. "I… I'm not ready!" He squeezed the cold hand with his two warm ones, willing his life force into the hurt man. "There are still so many things you haven't taught me..."

Rudy fixated his nephew with a disapproving glare.

"Life rarely asks if we're ready, boy." He grumbled. But then his demeanor softened. "You'll figure it out, dear boy. I know you will."

But Mycroft shook his head.

"I won't… I can't." His ice-blue eyes shined with unshed tears. "Have someone else take your place."

"We talked about this." Rudy let out an annoyed huff. "There is no one else, but you."

Mycroft grit his teeth.

"Look at me, uncle!" He gestured at his young body. "To them I'm just a child, a brat with too many privileges! They'll never listen to me!"

"Then make them!" Rudolph's voice suddenly regained a bit of it's usual fire. "Show them the brilliant mind you hide under those ginger curls, like you've shown me." He looked deep into the youth's eyes. "You're the leader England needs, Mycroft, even if you yourself don't see it. You just have to prove it to the rest of the world."

But the teen just shook his head.

"You don't know what you're asking of me."

"I do, boy. I truly do." Rudy squeezed the boy's hand. "I'm asking you because I know that, no matter how much you protests, you'll do what must be done." He smiled a sad smile at his favorite nephew. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, dear boy."

"Your trust is misplaced." Mycroft was still shaking his head. "If I was half as strong as you believe me to be, I… I wouldn't be begging you to delay the inevitable. I would have accepted the fact and did as you asked."

"Oh Mycroft..." Rudy shook his head gently and pulled the teen into a hug. "Most people wouldn't have survived half of what life put you through, dear boy." He hugged him tighter. "No matter how hard it is, I know you will do me proud." He then patted the Ginger's back. "This country needs you, Mycroft." His voice grew weaker, along with his hug, as his time was drawing to a close.

"Don't go..." Mycroft was crying, Rudy could feel the tears on his hospital gown. "Please… I can't do this without you."

But Rudolph just shook his head and, using the last of his strength, whispered.

"You'll have to."


	10. Chapter 10

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 10

"What's hidden beneath the ice: Guilt"

He was a mess.

A complete wreck of who he once was.

A shell with no life, walking among people who still had that light in them.

He laughed.

Oh how low he has fallen...

A rising star beat down before he was even close to reaching his peak.

Oh what an utter failure he turned out to be.

His name was undoubtedly cursed by his deceased relative, wherever he may now reside.

Rudy had such high hopes for him and yet...

How can he possibly lead this country, if he can't even prevent a simple assassination?

He shook his head, the motion making him dizzy.

'Even Sherlock could predict something so primitive.'

It was clear now that the position was never meant for him to hold.

No matter how hard he tried… it didn't work.

He just...

Couldn't seem to be able to do it.

For the last week he wasn't able to sleep. Eating anything made his insides cause an uproar.

Even his greatest pride, his mind, has betrayed him.

He couldn't even think properly.

It was all so sudden and he… wasn't ready. He wasn't expecting his uncle to die before he reached the age of twenty...

Oh, he knew it would happen eventually, only a fool would believe otherwise.

Just as he knew the same fate awaits him, when the time comes.

Mycroft was aware that attempts on his uncle's life were quite likely to happen...

He just never expected his uncle to get gunned down in an allied area.

He didn't expect a sniper...

He didn't expect an instant death...

He didn't expect to have to welcome the burden just yet...

He allowed his awareness to be lulled into a false sense of security, a delusion of safety, when Rudolph left for the meeting... And now he was facing the consequences.

During his first day in the 'job' all he could do was stare at the door, waiting for the man who will never come, to greet him.

Without proper nutrition, even his mind became sluggish and half-aware, body relying on muscle memory to get him through the day.

'It was my fault.' His treacherous brain whispered. 'I should have known this would happen.'

He was barely aware of his right hand moving towards the pen, while his other one pulled up another file.

'This had to be telegraphed in some way...' With no one and nothing there to distract him, the boy continued to poison his mind with undeserved guilt. 'An attack like that couldn't have been improvised...'

He heard a door open but didn't bother looking up to check who that was.

'I should have seen it coming...'

A silhouette appeared in the corner of his vision but he couldn't care less.

If he was useless enough to let his superior get killed, he might as well pay the price for that treachery.

'I should have saved him...'

The pen in his hand snapped under the pressure he put on it.

'Taken his place...'

The paper crumbled when his fingers curled into a fist.

'Done something!'

His mind was screaming that the figure is getting closer now, but he ignored the warnings.

'Let him come.' Mycroft thought with a bitter smile. 'Let him fire that gun he's hiding in his breast pocket.' He loosened his grip on the items he violated. 'Let him rid the world of it's greatest failure.'

As the man drew near, all the boy could say was:

"Not in the head, please."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He blinked, trying to clear his head of the sudden fog that obscured his thinking process, as the Queen formally accepted him into his rank.

'They saved me.'

"By the power vested in me I hereby name you, Mycroft Magnus Holmes, the successor to the position of Guide and Protector of England."

A scepter touched his right shoulder then moved to his right one.

But he wasn't even paying attention.

'They managed to save me...'

He was so close… so close to atoning for his sins, to ridding his beloved country of his cursed fingers...

The assassin's gun was already pressed against his chest...

All it would take was a single pull of the trigger...

'But they saved me...'

"Rise, Young One, and join your place in the circle."

'Why do you still want me, My Queen?' Icy Blue eyes looked up at the elderly lady from where their owner was kneeling.

'I can't even die properly'


	11. Chapter 11

"Ultra Imfirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 10

"Hidden beneath the Ice: Duty."

'This is it.' The newly appointed British Government thought to himself as the problem he's expected to solve, was being presented to him by one of his country's Generals. 'The final trial… the hardest of challenges...'

"...the villagers have all been identified as either sick or carriers of the aforementioned disease, sir. In addition, the medical investigation concluded that there is no known cure for what's ailing them, nor will one surface before they all succumb to the symptoms."

The man reading the report sounded mechanical and monotone, as if he was discussing the weather and not the fate of hundreds of innocent human beings that just happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

But Mycroft knew better.

He saw the signs: the subtle shaking of his left hand, the tiny beads of sweat coating his forehead…

They all pointed to once conclusion.

Some of those unfortunate souls… were related to him.

Wife, sons, daughters… parents… friends and distant relatives…

And he was about to leave their fate in the hands of an inexperienced child, not nearly old enough to have such a heavy burden placed upon his shoulders.

He didn't trust Mycroft's judgment.

That was okay.

Mycroft didn't trust it either, not after what happened to Rudy.

Quite honestly… he was surprised the queen even decided to let him keep the position, since his negligence was the reason Rudolph wasn't with them anymore.

He should be thrown in jail for the murder of a relative, with the key to his cell thrown out the window and never retrieved.

But he supposed facing today's agenda was a more fitting punishment than anything else, really…

After all… this is where the boy must be sacrificed, so that the man can emerge from his ashes…

And be the hero they need him to be.

'Do what must be done.'

"What are the symptoms of the illness, General?" The Prime Minister sitting to Mycroft's right, asked, voice grave and hollow.

"The symptoms include: extensive internal bleeding, abdominal pains, rotting of flesh and severe paralysis."

The queen sighed, her proud features schooled into a mask of concern and sadness.

"Such grave conditions… It would be inhuman to let those poor people suffer them longer than they have to " She whispered shaking her head. "I believe we all know what we must do."

She made it sound so easy…

Perhaps because it wasn't her signature signing those damned papers.

It wasn't her conscience that was going to be weighted down by those deaths.

She wasn't going to be blamed and cursed left and right by their relatives.

She wasn't going to have to face any of this.

But Mycroft was.

And the prospect was already making him feel sick.

"Wait!" The General cried, once he noticed the boy's hand reach out towards the pen. "T-There's still a chance they can be saved! Just because doctors don't believe they'll find a cure in time, doesn't mean they won't!"

That argument was pathetic, and everyone knew it.

It was desperate plea made by a desperate man in a desperate attempt to protect those he cared about.

It was pointless, illogical and, frankly, quite cruel.

They were already dying, so why continue to prolong their suffering if there are means to soften their transition to the other side?

Sentiment.

That was why.

Sentiment and a fool's hope.

Two things young Mycroft Holmes decided to stand behind in this helpless situation, despite his mentor's teachings to do otherwise.

Because he knew that, had it been his family…

He would have done the same.

So he prolonged the mass genocide for another few days, instructing the best doctors to abandon their researches, and work on the antidote.

'You did the right thing.' Mycroft's heart told him.

But his mind, the biggest ally he's got, only whispered:

'Oh Mycroft, Mycroft… Do you not realize what this mistake will cost you?'

He didn't care.

It mattered not at the moment.

All that mattered was that he didn't have innocent blood on his hands, that he could prevent.

He'd trust his heart this one time.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Uncle Rudy...it happened again.'

'What did, boy?'

'I failed.'

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He's back here again.

Looking at the gray stone before him, flowers in hand and hollowness where his soul once resided.

He can't remember the last time he went home.

He can't seem to be able to leave this place...

He's haunting this grave like a ghost.

Mycroft snorted.

How ironic.

Though one might say he's simply returning the favor.

Those that died… who he sent though personal hell before their passing, had been haunting his dreams ever since he memorised their faces.

He didn't mind though...

It's not like he didn't deserve it.

He knew what would happen, it wasn't something he did out of stress and anxiety.

It was a fully conscious decision on his part.

He thought the gamble would pay off, that by postponing the massacre and giving the lab boys more time, the infected would have a chance of survival.

It would be a miserable life, filled with pain and expensive rehabilitation, but at least they'd be alive.

He acted out of compassion.

He acted human.

And it was that action that cost him his newly acquired position.

The Government doesn't need sentimental fools at it's wheels.

It needs people who will do what needs to be done.

And if this was going to work, Mycroft cannot be a fool anymore.

He didn't know how to do that, though.

His teacher died before he could tell him the way to get rid of his instinctive 'caring'.

Do what needs to be done.

Those words echoed again and, for a second, Mycroft wondered.

Do those words hold the secret?

Do they show the way to becoming a vile, unfeeling monster able to sacrifice thousands to save millions, without batting an eye?

Was saying those words on his deathbed his mentor's way of guiding him through this dilemma?

Perhaps.

But alas, those are but mere guidelines. They tell you what mindset to be in when confronted with a decision that is going against your moral code: Do what needs to be done, regardless of it clashing with your moral compass, or not. There is more than one life on your shoulders.

But they don't tell you what to do when the dust settles and you're forced to face the consequences of your actions.

Mycroft's stared at them now.

Each engraved name carrying more behind it. Family, friends... strangers just met earlier that day.

They're all suffering now...

And they can't even know the name of the man-boy-responsible for all that pain.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft stared and stared and stared...

Until his eyes burned.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was supposed to be his life now.

Constant hard choices.

Constant weighting lives against lives. Which ones are worth protecting, which ones he can afford to sacrifice...

And the constant… crushing… guilt.

It consumed him, ripped him apart from the inside...

It hurt more than any physical wound ever could.

...

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft shook his head sharply, hands squeezing into fists.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This needs to stop.

He cannot act like a sentimental buffoon every time he was faced with such a dilemma.

What was his job, if not making the hard choices and doing what needs to be done?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His hands shook.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There will be more cases like this… where, in order to protect his country, he'll have to play judge and executioner with the lives of innocent people.

He has been trained for this very thing, ever since he was six.

His hands were made to be covered by the blood of his people.

No sacrifice was deemed too great, when it came to the safety of Great Britain.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His vision got blurry.

Was he crying?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rudy made sure he knew what he was getting into… this wasn't a surprise revelation... It shouldn't be affecting him as much as it did!

He… he had to get rid of those 'feelings'!

They were clouding his judgement, obscuring his logical thinking, making him weak!

Squeezing his fists so hard blood began dripping from the cut skin, he continued to glare at the massive tombstone before him.

Being human and compassionate already costed him more than he was willing to pay once...

He cannot let this happen again.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft growled and kicked at the ground, angry at himself.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He already knew that.

All this thinking brought nothing new to the table.

Mycroft still doesn't know how to prevent himself from drowning in guilt with every mass murder he has to sign...

And his hands can't seem to stop shaking.

The boy cussed, shaking the tears away.

There was no solution, no clever trick, no way around it.

No matter how he looked at it… there was no way he could continue with this carrier.

He's...

Too human.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that could have been the end of it...

The young boy would have been taken down from his government duty, until he grew old enough to perform admirably, and maybe, things wouldn't have ended the way they did.

But the world really needed the Iceman...

And, since the only person who could teach young Mycroft how to become one, was dead...

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"All lives end, all hearts are broken..."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His mind decided to create its own.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft froze.

Someone was speaking.. .and yet there was no one at the cemetery besides himself.

"Caring is not an advantage."

He turned around abruptly, sharp eyes seeking the one that spoke.

But there was nothing to find...

"W-Who are you?" The boy's voice shook despite his best efforts to hide it. "Where are you hiding?"

For a minute nothing responded, making the child fear for his own sanity, but then..

The voice spoke again.

"You need not fear me, young one, for I am but a humble servant to your cause."

The voice didn't sound threatening, but emotionless and cold.

Like an ice statue.

"Why can't I see you, then?" Mycroft continued to look around, squinting his eyes to see better.

"Do not strain your eyes so youngling, for you will not see me thanks to their use."

Mycroft frowned.

That didn't make sense...

"What do you mean?"

"I am not a physical being, dear boy, nor am I present in your plane of existence."

"I don't understand..." The boy's head was beginning to hurt. "What are you then?"

"Quod sum eris."

"..." Mycroft's breath hitched in his throat.

The translation wasn't difficult to obtain.

"I am what you will be."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And just like that, the masterless student has acquired a teacher that will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Giving Mycroft the guidance and advice he needed, and quickly transforming the boy into the confident, strong-willed, no-nonsense leader England needed to survive.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly since Mycroft's return from the cemetery that one fateful day.

The decisions he made rarely ended in catastrophe, additional lives were no longer getting lost in the crossfire, and politicians were slowly learning that Rudolph Holmes's heir wasn't someone to be pushed around.

The Queen was happy.

The senators were happy.

And the Englishmen were satisfied.

But it all came with a price.

One far too internal for the naked eye to see.

For Mycroft's training was none to gentle.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a particularly difficult decision, one that crushed the poor boy under its proverbial weight.

He had no idea what to do, and time was running out.

"Get up."

Came the cold response of his master.

"I'm... trying." And really, he was, but… he wasn't good at buffering his conscience yet.

It still screamed.

It still hurt.

It still existed.

"Not hard enough. Get up."

"I can't."

The weight was too much.

All of this was too much.

And, by God, it hurt.

"I don't recall giving you a choice. Get. Up."

"I can't! I… I really can't!"

He struggled and pushed but to no avail.

The weight this time was too great.

"I said Get. Up!"

"I already told you I can't!" Why won't the man help?

"You either get up on your feet… or everything around you, burns."

"It's… too heavy. I… I can't do this on my own. You have to… help me."

Admitting defeat.

Like a beaten dog with it's tail between its legs.

His master won't like this.

"No." There it was, the disgust and disapproval.

He's going to have to deal with this on his own.

"Why?"

"If I were to help you now, you'll never stand on your own."

Logical. The student must rise above his weakness. No good will come from his teacher to keep on helping him.

"I can… learn in time..." Though convincing him was near impossible, Mycroft had to try at least.

"Rudy is dead, boy." Came the harsh response. "Time is the one thing you DON'T have."

Once again, his mentor was right.

The decision had to be made now.

"All lives end..." Mycroft echoed his mentor's words as his hands reached for the paperwork.

"All hearts are broken..." He read the paper again. Mission report. Asking whenever or not they should sacrifice fifty agents in a decoy operation in order to protect those who already got behind enemy lines.

Those people had families, friends, loved ones...

And he's sending them to their deaths.

"Caring is not an advantage."

He gave the signed papers to his secretary, who immediately rushed to deliver his orders to the lead Agents.

His mentor hummed in approval.

The attack was a success. The double-agents secured, and the information obtained.

He knew he did what needed to be done.

By all acounts...he won.

And yet he still felt as if he had lost.


	12. Chapter 12

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 12

"Brave on, little boy, lost in a gray fog. How long will you remain such, before they realize you're not coming back?" pt.2

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And past that, the weight of all on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight. You are theirs.

It must be very hard. "

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At first all that answered Cassandra's statement was utter silence.

Then… came the dreaded question.

"W-Whatever do you mean, 'there is nothing left for us to fix'?"

And after that...

The heartbreaking answer.

"Sherlock told you that Mycroft no longer sees you as members of his family." She leaned back in her seat. "Why should he listen to what you have to say?"

But Violet wasn't about to give up.

"That doesn't mean he can't be convinced otherwise!" Her eyes shined with hope that wasn't there before. "I'm sure his protective feelings for us can be rekindled if we try!"

But Cassandra only sighed and shook her head.

"I'm afraid that is just not possible, Ms. Holmes."

The couple blinked, their hope dwindling.

"What?"

"Think of Mycroft as a lizard being cornered by a natural predator." The former psychologist explained. "In order to protect itself, a lizard will lose its tail to distract the enemy so that it can get away." She then looked deep into the parents's eyes. "Mycroft's memories and emotional connection to you, is that tail." Her own brown eyes softened. "It will grow back but it won't be the same."

"What are you saying, Ms. Anders?" Siger's eyes were cloudy with unshed tears.

"I'm saying that Mycroft disposed of you. Took each and every memory and emotional connection, and overwrote them with fabricated ones. All to protect his already wounded heart." Cassandra's eyes shined with grief, for such a caring soul should not have been lost. "It is really a wonder that the change occurred nearly effortlessly, considering the circumstances? There was nothing but family loyalty bounding him to you… a connection so easily dealt with, so easily erased..."

"How?" Violet's voice quivered. "How was destroying every good memory and bonds, easy?"

"Is it not simpler to forget you had something, than to deal with the emptiness it left behind?" Cassandra asked. "That is exactly what your son did. Instead of grieving for the family he lost… he convinced himself it was never his to begin with." Her eyes peered at them somberly. "He thought himself dead to you, my dears. Can you really blame him for wanting to get rid of that pain?"

They stared at her silently, not knowing what to say.

Cassandra let them stew in that revelation, while she went to the kitchen to refill their teacups.

When she came back the couple was cuddling each other, seeking comfort in their embrace.

"Ms. Anders?" Violet's voice reached the elder lady's ears, soft and fearful. "Is there... really nothing we can do?"

Cassandra really wanted to say 'no'.

To tell them that their son can be saved, and restored to the man he was before.

But that would be a lie.

And she's not a liar.

"I'm afraid that is true." She answered solemnly. "After all… you cannot bring back something he doesn't remember having."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emptiness.

That's what he sees when he looks into the eyes of the man reflected in the glass surface.

Utter emptiness.

He can't remember if they were always like that.

He can't even recall the last time he paid so much attention to his reflection.

It didn't matter.

Icy-blue eyes blinked back at him.

There were many words to describe those orbs.

Cold...

Emotionless...

Dead...

Soulless...

The list of similar descriptions was nearly endless.

But to him they were only one thing.

Free.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctors lead the brown haired woman into the operating room.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Free of guilt.

Free of sentiment.

Free of weakness.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's obvious she's already drugged, as she makes no move to resist when they lay her down on the table and cuff her arms and legs.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He can't show compassion.

He can't show mercy.

He can't show he cares.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The doctors put on their white gloves, shaky hands steadied by a sip of alcohol a few minutes before.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Could he still be considered human?

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He might want to look into their little habit once this is over.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe, maybe not.

It doesn't really matter.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He watches as the nurses gently shave off the woman's beautiful straight hair, and hook her right arm into an IV containing anesthetics.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being human means being bendable.

Being human means having loved ones that can be killed.

Being human means having weaknesses.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

His eyes followed the scalpel as it hovered over the woman's temple, inches away from touching skin.

Any second now… and it will begin.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He thinks about all this and comes to the conclusion that, he doesn't mind being a monster.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An unseen cue has been given, and the lead doctor sliced into the woman's porcelain skin over her temple.

A tiny voice in the back of his head tells him he should feel something.

He doesn't.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Why would he want to be human if, in order to win a war against monsters...

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He stares blankly at the drop of blood flowing down the woman's cheek from the long cut.

His eyes followed as it passed her ear, landed on the silver table, and finally disappeared out of sight.

Empty.

He still feels empty.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One must become a monster himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, it's short. Yes, I'm working on a longer one. This is just a small appetizer. Alos, kudos to those who know where that quote came from and who said it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 14

"A hero's broken spirit, if not tended to properly, might grow into one of a true monster."

Mycroft is one, and is already perfectly capable of Reading on his own.

Mycroft is two, and filled out a crossword puzzle that his father has been stuck on.

Mycroft is three, and just won his first chess match against Siger.

Mycroft is four, and discusses philosophy with some of the best professors Oxford could offer.

Mycroft is five, and has mastered his second musical instrument: the piano.

Mycroft is six and tells his parents he wants to be an artist. Like Leonardo da Vinci.

Mycroft is seven, and has become the proud big brother of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

Mycroft is eight, and suddenly… he's a complete stranger.

He's been changed.

Reshaped.

Rewritten.

Remodeled.

Gone were his timid smiles when he won against his father in chess.

Gone were the passionate discussions about topics he should have no knowledge about.

Gone was that sparkle in his sharp icy-blue eyes, when he mastered another instrument.

Gone were the pretty pictures he doodled during a break in his preschool.

Gone was his desire to be an artist.

Gone… was the Mycroft she loved.

Instead, the Stranger locks himself in her son's room with countless law and politic-related books, and refuses to come out to anything unrelated to dinner.

If he wasn't there, he was out spending "quality time" with her older brother, Rudolph.

He was home but never home.

It wouldn't be so bad if… if he hadn't started to deteriorate.

He stopped eating properly leaving 90% of his meal on the plate, started sleeping less and disappearing during late hours of the night, chased out of his home by the shrill of a phone.

His skin, already pale, was turning paler with every day as this sickness continued to leech away at the little boy's health.

But, as the skin around his face grew more porcelain in color, the one under his eyes grew ever darker with each all-nighter he pulled.

And that was before the nightmares began.

One day, on the day of his eight birthday, the Stranger came home looking pale as a ghost.

Hugging himself and shaking the entire time Rudolph gently carried him into their home, silent tears tickling down his pale cheeks.

Her brother refused to tell her what happened.

He only said it was necessary, if a bit cruel on his part.

"It will give him strength for what awaits him in the future." He said, ever cryptic.

He never told her what exactly the Stranger had to be so ready for.

That night… the screams began.

The Stranger wailed in his sleeps, using her son's voice as he cried.

He pleaded for his uncle to not do it, that there had to be another way.

But whatever he was trying to prevent happened anyway, giving segue to the surprised yelp that will be heard echoing down the hallway for years to come.

It made her wonder what her brother exposed her eldest to, to make him scream like that.

She didn't have time to calm him though… those nightmare terrors always woke her other children, ones that needed her care more than the Stranger did.

Siger tried to help.

It didn't bring lasting effects.

After one peaceful night, the screaming returned with double the intensity.

The Stranger didn't let himself be comforted after that.

He barely even spent time with anyone once the nightmares started.

He ignored his baby brother, claiming to have a lot more important things to focus on than playing with him.

When she confronted him about it and demanded he tell her what those "other things" are, he said he couldn't tell. That it was classified.

He refused to say anything more,

She watched him, the Stranger in her boy's body, as he grew.

Changing more and more from the smiling eight-year-old Mycroft she remembered.

His eyes that once could lighten up an entire room with their light, were filled with a darkness that shouldn't occupy the orbs of a young child.

The Stranger in her child's body saw something that snuffed out all his innocence.

It scared her.

She stopped looking him in the eyes when he talked to her.

His face never smiled anymore.

It was always a blank look, revealing nothing of the emotions he felt.

She remembered when that same face used to be an open book to whoever looked at it.

Now… now she wasn't sure he even knew how to emote, anymore.

She never thought there would be a day when she missed the constant childish bickering between her two sons.

But their lack was breaking her heart more than she could ever admit.

Because the Stranger never argued, never fought for what was his, never even complained.

Not even when Sherlock destroyed his favorite chess board in a fit of irritation.

The Stranger just… blinked at the broken wood, and walked away.

Not saying a thing.

It was as if someone sucked out all the humanity out of him, and left nothing but an empty husk.

Rudolph was changing him into a monster.

And she let it happen.

Because it was easier to just ignore the problem, than deal with it.

She had two other children to take care of, after all.

Sherlock and Eurus needed her, so she focused on them...

And tried to ignore the empty eyes of the Stranger in her eldest's body, as she turned her back on him.

Leaving him at the mercy of Rudolph Holmes and his plans.  
\---------------  
Violet shook her head at the paused recording on the screen, eyes teary and shaky hand reaching out to the broken man on the video before her.

"Oh Mycroft..." Her voice broke. "What have I done?"

"A lot of things you shouldn't." Cassandra said nodding to Anthea who retreated to stand besides her, she wasn't going to be merciful. Not to these people. Not after what they put poor Mycroft through. "As well as 'nothing' in situations when one would typically warrant taking serious action."

Violet shook her head, tears still flowing and steely eyes focused on the man on the paused screen.

"Had I known..."

"It was right there, in the very open." The psychologist narrowed her wise eyes. "The signs of suffering have been there from the very beginning, you cannot tell me you haven't seen them at the earliest stage. Your son didn't have the necessary control to cover them up properly." She shook her head. "No… you must have known something terrible was happening, but… for whatever reason, chose to ignore it..." She leaned back, her body easily slipping into the position she usually took while listening to a patient. "Why? Why ignore the silent pleas for help, when it clear vocalisation of said pleas is not an option?" She folded her hands over her stomach as her eyes watched the younger woman. "Why didn't you help your son?"

Violet didn't look away from the screen as she answered.

"It… was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

Cassandra's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Sacrifice?"

"If I took Mycroft from him." The mother hissed. "He… he might have gone after Sherlock and Eurus next. God knows what he would have done to them. With Sherlock's unresponsiveness to authority, and Eurus's unpredictability, he might have restored to-" She shook the through away "I… I had to protect them."

"So, in order to save the remaining children… you allowed him to have the one with the trap's teeth already imbedded in his flesh."

The Holmes mother looked away from the screen then, as if not being able to look Mycroft in the eyes even if it's just a frozen recording of him.

"...It was for the best."

"A… necessary evil, you mean?" The psychologist asked.

"Better one than three."

Cassandra frowned.

"Is 'none' not an option?"

"Not with my brother, it wasn't." Violet shook her head. "If he wanted something, he was going to get it. One way or another."

Ms. Anders sighed.

"What your brother wanted was an heir to his proverbial throne." She shook her head. "Both Sherlock and Eurus do not possess the proper qualities to rule a kingdom from the shadows."

"I know that now but… back then..."

"Back then you still saw that whatever Rudolph was doing to Mycroft, was taking away his identity. Destroying the person he was and turning him into someone better suited for your older brother's goal." Cassandra's eye narrowed even more. "Why didn't you do anything?"

"..." The Holmes parent sat silently for a second. "He never said anything about wanting it to stop." She swallowed thickly. "I thought he wanted whatever Rudy was preparing him for."

"You're Implying that an eight-year-old boy can object to his guardian's wishes." The psychologist shook her wise head. "No. Choice is something your eldest never had the privilege of having. At least not when it comes to his personal life."

"Maybe Mycroft couldn't back out of it then, when he was a child." Violet's eyes sparked with determination as she finally turned to face Ms. Anders. "But what about when he got older? Why didn't he leave then?"

Cassandra gave the woman a pitying look.

"When, Ms. Holmes? Your brother died a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday, and your son has been pushed into his position before his body had the chance to cool." She shook her head. "By the time he was old enough to potentially step away, your brother was... assassinated, and that door has been shut for good."

"..."

Violet went quiet.

"So you see, Ms. Holmes." Cassandra sighed. "Your son had no choice but to become what he was trained to be."

"Was there truly no one else?" Siger's small voice asked, from his spot besides his wife. "Was Mycroft really the only one who could take Rudolph's place?"

Cassandra turned to him, noticing how the way he was sitting made him look smaller than he really was.

"He was the only one both chosen by and well versed in Rudolph's ways of leading a country." Anthea answered, leaning against the wall. "He may not have been the only one capable of taking the position, but he was the best candidate."

"Oh..." Siger fell silent after that, staring at his hands helplessly.

Cassandra sighed.

"There is much you have to atone for, my dears."

"Y-You said it's too late." Violet looked up.

"It is." Cassandra confirmed. "But you still don't know the full extent of your parental failure." She leaned back.

"Otherwise you'll never know why your son was forced into the state he is in today."


	14. Chapter 14

Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 14

"A hero's broken spirit, if not tended to properly, might grow into one of a true monster."

Mycroft is one, and is already perfectly capable of Reading on his own.

Mycroft is two, and filled out a crossword puzzle that his father has been stuck on.

Mycroft is three, and just won his first chess match against Siger.

Mycroft is four, and discusses philosophy with some of the best professors Oxford could offer.

Mycroft is five, and has mastered his second musical instrument: the piano.

Mycroft is six and tells his parents he wants to be an artist. Like Leonardo da Vinci.

Mycroft is seven, and has become the proud big brother of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

Mycroft is eight, and suddenly… he's a complete stranger.

He's been changed.

Reshaped.

Rewritten.

Remodeled.

Gone were his timid smiles when he won against his father in chess.

Gone were the passionate discussions about topics he should have no knowledge about.

Gone was that sparkle in his sharp icy-blue eyes, when he mastered another instrument.

Gone were the pretty pictures he doodled during a break in his preschool.

Gone was his desire to be an artist.

Gone… was the Mycroft she loved.

Instead, the Stranger locks himself in her son's room with countless law and politic-related books, and refuses to come out to anything unrelated to dinner.

If he wasn't there, he was out spending "quality time" with her older brother, Rudolph.

He was home but never home.

It wouldn't be so bad if… if he hadn't started to deteriorate.

He stopped eating properly leaving 90% of his meal on the plate, started sleeping less and disappearing during late hours of the night, chased out of his home by the shrill of a phone.

His skin, already pale, was turning paler with every day as this sickness continued to leech away at the little boy's health.

But, as the skin around his face grew more porcelain in color, the one under his eyes grew ever darker with each all-nighter he pulled.

And that was before the nightmares began.

One day, on the day of his eight birthday, the Stranger came home looking pale as a ghost.

Hugging himself and shaking the entire time Rudolph gently carried him into their home, silent tears tickling down his pale cheeks.

Her brother refused to tell her what happened.

He only said it was necessary, if a bit cruel on his part.

"It will give him strength for what awaits him in the future." He said, ever cryptic.

He never told her what exactly the Stranger had to be so ready for.

That night… the screams began.

The Stranger wailed in his sleeps, using her son's voice as he cried.

He pleaded for his uncle to not do it, that there had to be another way.

But whatever he was trying to prevent happened anyway, giving segue to the surprised yelp that will be heard echoing down the hallway for years to come.

It made her wonder what her brother exposed her eldest to, to make him scream like that.

She didn't have time to calm him though… those nightmare terrors always woke her other children, ones that needed her care more than the Stranger did.

Siger tried to help.

It didn't bring lasting effects.

After one peaceful night, the screaming returned with double the intensity.

The Stranger didn't let himself be comforted after that.

He barely even spent time with anyone once the nightmares started.

He ignored his baby brother, claiming to have a lot more important things to focus on than playing with him.

When she confronted him about it and demanded he tell her what those "other things" are, he said he couldn't tell. That it was classified.

He refused to say anything more,

She watched him, the Stranger in her boy's body, as he grew.

Changing more and more from the smiling eight-year-old Mycroft she remembered.

His eyes that once could lighten up an entire room with their light, were filled with a darkness that shouldn't occupy the orbs of a young child.

The Stranger in her child's body saw something that snuffed out all his innocence.

It scared her.

She stopped looking him in the eyes when he talked to her.

His face never smiled anymore.

It was always a blank look, revealing nothing of the emotions he felt.

She remembered when that same face used to be an open book to whoever looked at it.

Now… now she wasn't sure he even knew how to emote, anymore.

She never thought there would be a day when she missed the constant childish bickering between her two sons.

But their lack was breaking her heart more than she could ever admit.

Because the Stranger never argued, never fought for what was his, never even complained.

Not even when Sherlock destroyed his favorite chess board in a fit of irritation.

The Stranger just… blinked at the broken wood, and walked away.

Not saying a thing.

It was as if someone sucked out all the humanity out of him, and left nothing but an empty husk.

Rudolph was changing him into a monster.

And she let it happen.

Because it was easier to just ignore the problem, than deal with it.

She had two other children to take care of, after all.

Sherlock and Eurus needed her, so she focused on them...

And tried to ignore the empty eyes of the Stranger in her eldest's body, as she turned her back on him.

Leaving him at the mercy of Rudolph Holmes and his plans.

\-------------

Violet shook her head at the paused recording on the screen, eyes teary and shaky hand reaching out to the broken man on the video before her.

"Oh Mycroft..." Her voice broke. "What have I done?"

"A lot of things you shouldn't." Cassandra said nodding to Anthea who retreated to stand besides her, she wasn't going to be merciful. Not to these people. Not after what they put poor Mycroft through. "As well as 'nothing' in situations when one would typically warrant taking serious action."

Violet shook her head, tears still flowing and steely eyes focused on the man on the paused screen.

"Had I known..."

"It was right there, in the very open." The psychologist narrowed her wise eyes. "The signs of suffering have been there from the very beginning, you cannot tell me you haven't seen them at the earliest stage. Your son didn't have the necessary control to cover them up properly." She shook her head. "No… you must have known something terrible was happening, but… for whatever reason, chose to ignore it..." She leaned back, her body easily slipping into the position she usually took while listening to a patient. "Why? Why ignore the silent pleas for help, when it clear vocalisation of said pleas is not an option?" She folded her hands over her stomach as her eyes watched the younger woman. "Why didn't you help your son?"

Violet didn't look away from the screen as she answered.

"It… was a sacrifice I was willing to make."

Cassandra's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Sacrifice?"

"If I took Mycroft from him." The mother hissed. "He… he might have gone after Sherlock and Eurus next. God knows what he would have done to them. With Sherlock's unresponsiveness to authority, and Eurus's unpredictability, he might have restored to-" She shook the through away "I… I had to protect them."

"So, in order to save the remaining children… you allowed him to have the one with the trap's teeth already imbedded in his flesh."

The Holmes mother looked away from the screen then, as if not being able to look Mycroft in the eyes even if it's just a frozen recording of him.

"...It was for the best."

"A… necessary evil, you mean?" The psychologist asked.

"Better one than three."

Cassandra frowned.

"Is 'none' not an option?"

"Not with my brother, it wasn't." Violet shook her head. "If he wanted something, he was going to get it. One way or another."

Ms. Anders sighed.

"What your brother wanted was an heir to his proverbial throne." She shook her head. "Both Sherlock and Eurus do not possess the proper qualities to rule a kingdom from the shadows."

"I know that now but… back then..."

"Back then you still saw that whatever Rudolph was doing to Mycroft, was taking away his identity. Destroying the person he was and turning him into someone better suited for your older brother's goal." Cassandra's eye narrowed even more. "Why didn't you do anything?"

"..." The Holmes parent sat silently for a second. "He never said anything about wanting it to stop." She swallowed thickly. "I thought he wanted whatever Rudy was preparing him for."

"You're Implying that an eight-year-old boy can object to his guardian's wishes." The psychologist shook her wise head. "No. Choice is something your eldest never had the privilege of having. At least not when it comes to his personal life."

"Maybe Mycroft couldn't back out of it then, when he was a child." Violet's eyes sparked with determination as she finally turned to face Ms. Anders. "But what about when he got older? Why didn't he leave then?"

Cassandra gave the woman a pitying look.

"When, Ms. Holmes? Your brother died a day before Mycroft's nineteenth birthday, and your son has been pushed into his position before his body had the chance to cool." She shook her head. "By the time he was old enough to potentially step away, your brother was... assassinated, and that door has been shut for good."

"..."

Violet went quiet.

"So you see, Ms. Holmes." Cassandra sighed. "Your son had no choice but to become what he was trained to be."

"Was there truly no one else?" Siger's small voice asked, from his spot besides his wife. "Was Mycroft really the only one who could take Rudolph's place?"

Cassandra turned to him, noticing how the way he was sitting made him look smaller than he really was.

"He was the only one both chosen by and well versed in Rudolph's ways of leading a country." Anthea answered, leaning against the wall. "He may not have been the only one capable of taking the position, but he was the best candidate."

"Oh..." Siger fell silent after that, staring at his hands helplessly.

Cassandra sighed.

"There is much you have to atone for, my dears."

"Y-You said it's too late." Violet looked up.

"It is." Cassandra confirmed. "But you still don't know the full extent of your parental failure." She leaned back.

"Otherwise you'll never know why your son was forced into the state he is in today."


	15. Chapter 15

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 15

"Secrets taken to the grave."

Sherlock couldn't sleep.

Everything that has happened during the last few days, chased the notion of rest away from the Detective's eyes.

All he could think about...

Was his brother.

About how he suffered through their shared life.

About how no one did anything to help him when he clearly needed it.

About how he did nothing but be an enormous brat nearly all their shared life.

But more importantly...

About the person responsible for all this.

Uncle Rudolph Holmes.

He was the one who ruined their family with his deception and constant lies.

He told them all Eurus was dead.

He took an innocent little boy and molded him into a monster.

He made sure their parents never knew when Mycroft really took his place as the Shadow King of England.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

There is no telling what else he lied about.

Sherlock frowned, the thought buzzing around in his head, as he tossed and turned in bed.

...

There is no way he's going to sleep with all these questions left unanswered.

He got up.

It was time to get some answers.

Sherlock effortlessly navigated through the dark bedroom, reaching his wardrobe with almost mechanical ease and pulling out a random set of clothes.

His biological clock told him it's about 2:00 a.m in the morning.

It's not like anyone will be awake to judge his taste in attire.

A few minutes later he's dressed and quietly making his way down the stairs. No reason for John and Ms. Hudson to be awake at this hour.

As much as he usually enjoys his blogger's company during cases, this is something he has to take care of alone.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One long ride via taxi and the young Detective was standing in front of an abandoned building.

Sherlock glared at the doorknob, which was dusty from years of unuse.

Behind it was the home of his late uncle Rudolph Holmes, the fortress in which he planned all his schemes.

Sherlock would go for the man's office but that has been thoroughly remodeled after Mycroft took possession of it.

If there was anything to find in that office, his older brother's men have already disposed of it a long time ago.

So here Sherlock was, about to break into a dead man's home.

It felt like he was about to graverob his uncle's tomb.

Shaking the thought away, the curly-haired servant of the law kneeled and began working on the lock.

Once the poor old rusty thing finally gave way to his forceful unlocking, Sherlock was allowed in.

The door swung open with a shrill, a cloud of dust hitting the detective square on the face.

Sherlock coughed a few times before entering the room.

It was dark, gloomy and covered in layers upon layers of dust.

He walked through the long empty hallways, ignoring the rooms that weren't the study.

After being unable able to find the office on the lower level, Sherlock decided to go upstairs.

He didn't have to look long after that. His uncle's personal office was the first room to the right, immediately next to the stairs.

Without a second thought Sherlock burst through the simple, wooden door and began searching for something that could be connected to his brother.

There will be no more secrets in this family.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'There...' Sherlock fell to his knees, his entire body covered in dust. 'There is nothing here...'

He spent four straight hours trying to find something but...

There was nothing.

Nothing at all.

The Detective looked down at the folders laying before him on the floor, his vision going blurry from the tears of frustration that were building up.

'This...' He started shaking. 'This isn't possible...' His hands curled into fists. 'There has to be SOMETHING!'

He should have expected this.

He should have figured the secret leader of an entire nation, would not leave any important information laying around for people to find.

Even if it's in the comfort of his own home, Rudy would not allow sensitive information to be anywhere but in a secure place.

And yet he still came here.

He still searched the room.

He still hoped.

...

He was a fool.

Sherlock felt his resolve falter, his anger giving in to despair.

Momentarily he was that little boy whose brother refused to play with him for the third time in just as many days, with no good reason.

Sherlock hissed and then hit the wooden floor below him, wishing for something to be punished for his failure.

Then… a miracle happened.

Instead of withstanding the Detective's punch, the floorboard actually cracked under the pressure revealing an empty space beneath it.

And that meant hidden compartment.

Startled by the sound of wood breaking, Sherlock's head instantly turned towards his hand, his eyes widened at what he discovered.

It was a book.

Or, more precisely...

A journal.

Rudolph's journal.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock couldn't believe his luck, as he scanned through the pages of the newly discovered source of untapped knowledge.

This simple book contained insight into the mind of the most mysterious and secretive person, the poor Detective had the misfortune of knowing.

So Holmes flipped the pages, reading about his uncle's thoughts about many interesting subjects, many secrets he had covered up through the years.

But, as interesting as this was, it wasn't anything about their family so he forced himself to stop reading, and skip ahead to around the time Mycroft was born.

There had to be something about him there.

And indeed there was.

Just not the kind of something Sherlock expected...  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday

The situation with the Russians is slowly getting out of hand, despite my continued efforts.

Their president showcases much boldness for someone who risks going against an entire union if things slip out of control.

That leads me to believe that he has something up his sleeve, which he can hold over our heads to prevent a global intervention on whatever it is he's hiding.

This idea worries me greatly.

A team must be dispatched to retrieve this hidden "Ace", whatever it might be.

Tuesday

Choosing the right man to take on the leading role in the retrieval mission, proved to be more taxing than I anticipated. Our top agents are all with their hands full:

Agent "Troy" is busy negotiating in Hong Kong, "Melinda" is in the middle of a reconnaissance mission in Denmark, and "Horatio" is on sick leave. The rest are all on errands from Lady Smallwood.

This does not leave me with a lot of options to choose from.

I would normally not do this, especially since he still didn't recover fully from his last mission, but the present situation forces my hand.

I'm sending agent "Alekai" to Russia.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock isn't sure why this is significant, but the agent's codename imbedded itself in his brain.

His gut tells him that this man is somehow important.

He skips a few more pages.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday

The fool.

The Utterly Foolish fool.

I cannot believe he was moronic enough to actually go through with this, I cannot believe he managed to keep this a secret for so long without blowing his cover, I cannot believe nobody noticed anything.

He played us.

All of us.

Hid in plain sight.

We underestimated him.

I am unsure who the real fools are, anymore.

Oh, "Alekai"... why did you do this?

How could you make such a rookie mistake?

Wasn't this the first thing we taught you not to do?

Did you know this endeavor could end up in tragedy, when you spoke your eternal vows?

Of course you knew.

Otherwise you wouldn't go to such lengths to make sure we don't find out.

Oh, "Alekai"...

For your wife's sake, I hope you return in one piece.

She's due soon.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock's head spinned.

What was the meaning of this?

Why is his uncle so focused on this one agent? Why is there nothing about his mother and the fact that she's about to give birth to his first nephew?

Something is not right.

The Detective was almost afraid to read what happens next.

'It's for Mycroft.' He thought to himself when his finger faltered. 'You're doing this for him.'

The pages turned.

It took a few turns but he finally found something that discussed the agent.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friday

You should have known this would end this way, Agent "Alekai".

You shouldn't have fallen for a trap as common as caring.

You knew the risk when you put that ring around the woman's finger.

People like us don't get a happy ending, dear friend.

As I stood next to your dying wife and newborn son, I thought about how neither of them deserved this.

Your wife deserved a husband who was there for her and your child, on a daily basis.

Your son deserved to grow up with a father figure watching over his steps, as he grew.

They both deserved so much more than what you could offer, "Alekai".

She held on, do you know that, agent?

She tried so hard to be there when you came but… human resilience can only do so much.

The doctors did not know what exactly happened to cause her death, and, even if they have known beforehand, it was too little too late to save her.

But the boy was safe.

Whatever took the life of his mother, didn't spread to him.

Thank the Lord for small mercies.

If he's anything like you, agent, he's going to grow up big and strong.

It's a pity you won't be around to see it.

But at least you were there so say goodbye to your family.

I am actually surprised you managed to come back from Russia, at all.

Especially when Agent "C" notified me about your poisoning.

You ran over to the hospital, desperately trying to be there before your "love" made her last travel to the morgue, ignoring the risks to your own health.

This is why we ban our agents from having relationships, "Alekai".

Because emotions prevent people from thinking logically.

Had you not acted like a fool in love and ran to the hospital, spreading the poison inside your body further, maybe your son would still have a father.

At least you managed to hold him before the toxin claimed your life.

(There is a large part of the text scribbled over)

Wherever you are now "Alekai", you need not worry about your unnamed child.

I made sure he is in good hands now.

I placed him in the care of a trusted couple that haven't been able to have their own children.

I'll be able to look after him in your place, and maybe someday, if fate is willing, he'll be a valued servant of our society just like you once were.

Worry not, dear friend.

I'll make sure young Mycroft Holmes doesn't make the same mistakes you did.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock dropped the book.


	16. Chapter 16

"Ultra Infirmitatibus Meis"

Chapter 16

"Legend of Alekai."

Lady Smallwood couldn't say she was surprised when Sherlock Holmes appeared on her front porch in the middle of the night, demanding she talk to him about his brother.

She was surprised however, when he demanded to be told about "Alekai".

"How do you know that name?" Alicia's voice was a dangerous whisper among the nightly songs of the crickets.

"You may say the dead spoke to me." The Detective answered, and Smallwood couldn't tell if he's serious or not. "I know the truth, Elisabeth." He let himself in. "Now please… tell me the entire story."

I want to know why Uncle Rudy didn't want Mycroft to find out who his real father was.

Went unsaid, but Alicia still heard it.

She sighed heavily, knowing that this day would come eventually.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that."

Sherlock frowned, unhappy hearing that.

"But… you were mentioned by Rudolph himself!"

She chuckled.

"Not me, little Detective." Alicia shook her head. "But my mother."

\--------------------

Soon both she and Sherlock were in an old people's home, waiting to be allowed entry to room 456.

Where all the answers await.

"There we go… all the formalities taken care of." The nurse smiled at them, though only Lady Smallwood smiled back. "Now... You are ready to see Eunice Smallwood. Though I must warn you that she has been acting quite strangely for the past couple of weeks."

"It is quite alright." Alicia assured her. "I am fully capable of handling my mother's moods, dear. No need to be worried."

The nurse didn't look convinced, but led them towards the proper room anyway.

After going through a rather long, white colored hallway they finally reached the proper door.

"There we are." The nurse nodded, unlocking the door. "Be careful in there, alright?" She couldn't help but warn them. Sherlock could see the concern and fear in her green eyes. The woman he and Lady Smallwood were about to visit, seemed to be more dangerous than an usual lady over sixty should be.

"No worries, dear." Alicia repeated herself with a patient smile, which served as a painful reminder of what Mycroft used to be. Endlessly patient, professional and in control.

Now...

He's just… cold.

The nurse nodded and opened the door for him and Lady Smallwood.

What lay beyond it… was a simple room with an elderly woman sitting in a rocking chair, knitting something that looked like a red scarf.

"Oh, hello." The woman said, when the door closed. "Are you part of the new staff?" Eunice, Sherlock believed her name was, asked, amber eyes crinkling with mirth.

The question made the Detective flinch.

It looked like this poor woman's mind was already swallowed by dementia, as she couldn't even recognize her own daughter.

Was this some sort of punishment?

Was Lady Smallwood trying to rub salt into his open wounds, by reminding him that the same thing happened to Mycroft?

That his careless actions didn't just cost him his brother, but also took away one of her dearest friends.

'I'm not lonely, Sherlock.' His brother's words, said not that long ago though to Sherlock it felt like a lifetime ago.

'It seems you really weren't, brother-dear.'

Mycroft maybe didn't consider them anything more than work colleagues, but it was clear to Sherlock that Anthea and Lady Smallwood thought themselves as his friends for a long time now.

He couldn't help but feel responsible for Mycroft no longer being the man they once admired.

"You may drop the pretence, mother." Alicia's stern voice pulled him out of the downward spiral he was heading for. "He's here to learn about 'Alekai'."

Immediately, in response to the words, the kind looking elderly woman transformed before the Detective's eyes.

The soft mirth in her eyes, was replaced with steely determination.

The hunchbacked figure straightened up to a pose resembling that of Alicia's back in the office.

Even her voice sounded younger without the typical grandma tone.

Sherlock blinked, shocked that his deduction powers didn't see past her disguise, while Eunice looked him up and down from between narrowed eyebrows.

"This isn't his child." The elder Smallwood finally announced, amber eyes staring deep into Sherlock blue ones. "He looks nothing like him."

"No." Alicia agreed.

"Then how does he know about him, Alicia?" There was obvious scorn in her tone. "Only a selected few were to be aware of his existence."

"He's the boy's adoptive brother, mother."

Eunice's eyebrow rose questionably.

"Rudolph's nephew?"

"Yes. Violet's eldest."

That title stung.

More than it would have a couple of years ago.

Eunice hummed in thought.

"You must be Sherlock then."

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Tell me, boy, how do you know about Agent 'Alekai'?" She leaned back in her rocking chair. "I doubt Rudolph told you about this little secret."

"You're right, Mrs. Smallwood." He nodded again. "Me and Uncle Rudy were never close. He preferred to hang out with Mycroft, barely even acknowledging me and Eurus at all." He shrugged. "I only know about… the secret due to the journal I found in his abandoned home."

"So he didn't burn it after all." Eunice shook her head. "The poor sentimental old fool..."

The Detective didn't know how to respond to that.

Rudolph Holmes never struck him as someone he could call 'sentimental'.

Then again… neither was Mycroft.

Both of them hid their hearts under coats of ice.

Now one is dead, and the other is… lost.

"Does the boy, Mycroft, know about this?" Eunice asked.

Alicia shook her head sadly.

"No. He doesn't."

"Good." Amber eyes narrowed. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

"But why?" Sherlock asked, before Lady Smallwood could answer. "Why can't Mycroft know about his real father?"

Eunice looked him deep in the eyes then.

Despite having the color of fire there was no warmth to be found in them.

"Maybe you should tell him the story from the beginning, mother." Alicia interjected before the elder Smallwood could answer. "He'll understand more if you explain everything clearly."

There was silence for a very long time before the elderly woman finally sighed and nodded.

"Very well." She turned around and patted the pillow behind her. "Settle down children. This might take a while."

\--------------------

"Perhaps I should explain who agent 'Alekai' was as a person." She smiled then, eyes gaining a far away look as if she was remembering a much happier time. "His real name was Duncan. Duncan Hawk. And he was a really close friend of mine." Eunice then blinked and pulled out what looked like a photograph. It was wrinkled, yellow with age and Sherlock could swear he saw a few tear stains on the edge.

She smoothed it out with great care evident in her movements, before placing it before him.

It depicted a person sitting in what seemed to be a med center.

Said person immediately caught Sherlock's attention.

And why wouldn't he?

The man looked almost exactly like Mycroft.

With the exception of his dark brown hair, beard, and greater height, there was no visible difference between him and his brother.

'This must be him.' Holmes thought, brain drinking in all the details it could. 'Agent Alekai''.

He was grinning sheepishly in the photograph, right hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck, despite it being covered in bandages.

Sherlock noticed that his hand wasn't the only thing covered in gauze and Band-Aids.

"He was a real fighter, that one." Eunice chuckled. "Addicted to the smell of battle, he called it, the fool." She shook her head fondly. "There was never a time when he was not covered up by some sort of bandage, he got into brawls so much. Worried I'd get sloppy, he said whenever someone asked why. Plus, how else am I supposed to test if my fellow agents are ready for missions?" She paused for a second. "He might have been reckless and had no regard for his own safety… but you wouldn't find a better man among our field agents. His loyalty burned like the sun, his physical powers vastly outshined that of his peers, and his immense experience made 'Alekai' the agent you called upon when you expected results." Eunice sighed. "There was one thing that you needed to be weary of, however, when assigning him to missions." She rocked back and forth in a futile attempt to distract herself from the memories flooding her mind. "And that… was his immense hatred for Russians. He never told anyone why he despised them so, but whenever they were involved he immediately got aggressive and very violent." She sighed sadly. "At first Rudy saw that as an advantage, that at least he won't be switching sides and going easy on them during questioning. But… as reports from his first information gathering mission in Siberia reached his office… we realized that sending him might have been a mistake." She shivered. "None of the Russians survived the onslaught. And the building he infiltrated was lost to an explosion." Eunice toyed with her scarf. "After that he only went on a mission to Russia once more. A mission that ultimately… led to his demise."

Sherlock kept silent, staring at the man in the picture.

"You feel responsible." He stated, not looking up.

"How can I not, Holmes boy?" Eunice's voice was filled with anguish. "Rudy may have been the one who signed the papers, but I had the power to stop him." She shook her head. "I may not have known about his marriage and impending fatherhood, but I could see that something was different about Alekai." The elder Smallwood lowered her head. "I should have done something, convinced Rudy to send someone else because Hawk was injured, make him postpone the mission until he's fully healed if he absolutely must send him, just… something."

Sherlock remained silent.

He remembered what Rudy wrote in his journal.

That he had no choice but to send 'Alekai' to Russia, as no one qualified was available.

Despite knowing that he knew, nothing he could say could ease the woman's guilt of being partly responsible for a good friend's death.

So instead of letting her dwell in those thoughts, the Detective decided to change the topic.

"I don't see how that explains why Mycroft is not allowed to know about his real father."

She looked up at him and sighed.

"That… is another matter altogether, I'm afraid." Eunice leaned back in her seat once more. "Since you read Rudy's journal I assume you know of Alekai's deception."

He nodded his head in confirmation.

"Very well then." Relief could be heard in her voice from not having to talk about the tragic death of a friend. "Despite what he might have written in that notebook of his, Mycroft's placement in your family's care was not something done immediately." Sherlock's eyebrow rose. "The both of us sat in Rudolph's office for many days debating whether raising Duncan's son in a normal family unit would benefit us once he follows in his father's footsteps, while the boy was under the care of nurses."

"You already assumed he would be an agent when he grew up?" Holmes whispered. "What if he wanted to be something else?"

"Alekai was a servant of the United Kingdom in mind, body and soul." Eunice responded mechanically. "We could find no better way to honor his memory than training his offspring to be as much of an asset to his country as possible."

Asset.

That's all Mycroft was to them.

An asset.

A replacement for his father.

They didn't even think of him as a person.

His life was theirs to command how they see fit.

But what was truly sickening, was the realisation that...

That's all he was to his adoptive family, too...


End file.
